


we were born for this

by playingprince



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (noren main ship!!!), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Angst, Child Abuse, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, alternative title: Archiveofourown User playingprince Spends Way Too Much Time Thinking About Renjun, alternative title: The Huang Renjun Chronicles, i promise all these characters are gonna show up, my hand slipped and more noren happened, welcome to my weird au of the kpop industry, what do you mean by boy band au, you may be asking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 116,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playingprince/pseuds/playingprince
Summary: The only thing that makes Renjun feel alive is people calling his name.or:a boy band au of what is already a boy band, because i like unnecessary extra stepsOR:the long, angsty noren fic no one asked for





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~
> 
> This is something I’ve been working on for a while, ever since I was in the middle of [maps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20164207/chapters/47772292). If you enjoyed the softest-ever Renjun of that fic, this one may not be the fic for you. While I already put this in the tags, I’d like to reemphasize that this fic includes child abuse, toxic relationships, and some sexual content later on.

Renjun did not like his uncle very much.

For one thing, he always smoked during dinner. Renjun would sit opposite him at the table, and the fan perched in the window would always blow the smoke in his direction. It happened so often that Renjun became embarrassed to wear his clothes to school because of how they stunk of cigarettes (though really, there was nothing to be embarrassed about -- many kids at his school smelled the same way). Second, the cigarettes clearly were doing a number on his uncle’s lungs, because when he slept his breathing was so loud and ragged it kept Renjun up through the night. The only reprieve were the times when his uncle would invite a woman back to their apartment; then, Renjun was made to drag his mattress out of their shared bedroom and sleep in the living room instead. This might have been fine, except worse than the snoring was the sound of moaning and bed-creaking which slipped beneath the closed door. And then in the morning, Renjun would be awoken as the woman stumbled hungover from the bedroom, wearing the same clothes she had the night before, and slammed the front door shut with a clumsy bang.

The only thing that kept Renjun hopeful was the thought of someday being able to move back in with his mother. He didn’t know when it would happen, but he never stopped believing that it would. He and his mother had been so perfectly happy together, even if they had their issues. Renjun’s uncle was always saying that “she wasn’t all there.” And he was right, but Renjun did not care. He still loved her on the nights that she talked loudly to herself at the kitchen table or wandered aimlessly up and down their street. He even loved her on the nights when she got drunk and locked herself in the bathroom and cried for so long that she would neglect to cook him dinner. But when his mother was having a Good Day, as they’d labeled it, the two of them were perfectly content in each other’s company. She would walk him home from ballet practice, ask him if he had fun, and when they got home, they would watch cartoons and play cards. In Renjun’s mind, the Good Days made the Bad Days worth it, and he adored her equally on both.

This was, of course, before the Drugs and the Meltdown and the Eviction, of which his uncle seemed to take great joy in reminding him.

“You’re not going to live with her again,” he said, with a smug expression. “She’ll be stuck in that psych ward for the rest of her life, that’s for damn sure.”

“It’s not called a psych ward,” Renjun replied. “It’s a mental hospital.”

“That’s just a euphemism.” His uncle puffed out smoke, and it flew directly into Renjun’s face. Sometimes, he thought he did it on purpose.

Fourteen was a difficult age for most people, but especially difficult for Renjun, since he’d had to move so suddenly from his small town to the crowded city. His friends back home had promised to keep in touch, but this never panned out. He received one measly letter his first week in the city, sent an eager reply, and then been left with radio silence ever since. He thought it was probably because he’d never been that close with his friends anyway -- it was hard to be when he could never invite them over to his house for fear that his mother might have an episode in front of them. Still, his feelings were hurt. He’d hoped that at least one of them liked him enough to make an effort.

At his new school he found it impossible to slip into a new group. Since it was the middle of the school year when he transferred, everyone already had their cliques. Most of the time he ate at his desk. Once, his teacher, in an act which Renjun could only perceive as pity, approached him during lunch and asked if his move had been difficult.

“Yes,” Renjun said, and nothing else.

The teacher stood awkwardly at his deskside for another few seconds before retreating to the front of the room and erasing the chalkboard.

Still, Renjun made excellent grades, probably in part because he had nothing else to do during the evenings but study, since he had no friends, and also in part because if he did poorly in school his uncle threatened to put him in an orphanage.

“I’m too old to be an orphan,” Renjun said. “No one would adopt me.”

“You’re never too old to be an orphan,” his uncle responded. “And no one would adopt you if you were younger anyway.”

Renjun’s uncle worked in construction. Like the guys Renjun always saw on TV with the orange hard hats, who walked on the steel beams. He made decent enough salary, but wasted it all away in card games. On most nights, he was home around dinner time, and Renjun was sure to cook a pot of rice in advance for the both of them, unless he was looking for a swat upside the head. On Fridays and Saturdays, his uncle might be gone well into the night, wasting time at either the underground casino or the bar. Those were the nights he sometimes brought home a woman. Renjun thought, bitterly, that his uncle must have paid those women, because who would sleep with someone so nasty and cruel? Not to mention his awful breath, unshaven face, and protruding beer gut.

Renjun did not like his uncle at all.

He’d met him for the first time at the airport.

Renjun’s neighbors had called the police because they heard screaming. It had been his mother, of course, after she’d broken the bathroom mirror and cut her hand open. It was decided that she was not fit to take care of a child, though Renjun had cried and objected when the agents came to take him from the house.

“She’s a good mom,” he’d said, but they didn’t understand it. No one ever did.

Three days later, he was visited in his temporary housing by a woman in a tight pencil skirt and heels she didn’t seem to know how to walk in.

“Are you Huang Renjun?” she asked him in a tiny little voice, like a cartoon character.

“Yes.”

“I have some good news for you,” she said, pulling up a chair to his bedside. In doing so, she nearly tripped over her own feet. She sat, and this close to her, Renjun could see that she was wearing false eyelashes, except one pair had detached slightly and gone crooked.

“We’ve found a home to place you in,” she continued. She had a pad of paper in her lap, which she tapped on with the chewed-up-cap end of her pen. “You’ll be staying with your uncle, in Wenzhou.”

Renjun stared at her blankly. Firstly, he’d only heard of his uncle once or twice -- his mother was not close with any of her family. Second, Wenzhou was miles and miles away, further from home than he had ever been.

“My uncle,” Renjun repeated.

“Isn’t it exciting?” Her tiny voice rose to an obnoxious squeak.

Renjun got up silently and began to pack his bag.

He had never been on a plane before. That had been bad enough (ears popping, stomach turning), but even worse was arriving at the airport and being unable to find his uncle. Many people's relatives stood at the gates, holding signs, calling their names. Renjun’s uncle did no such thing. Renjun pushed through the crowds, searching. But no sign bore his name and no one shouted it over the airport din. It occured to Renjun that perhaps no one was waiting for him. Perhaps this whole thing had been some kind of sick trick. Or maybe it was a terrible nightmare and he’d wake up to his mother gently shaking his shoulder. All of a sudden he felt his lip begin to tremble, but then he remembered where he was, among hundreds of people, and he refused to cry.

After a while, the mob began to break up, and only a few stragglers hung about. Finally, Renjun caught sight of a middle-aged man with an ill-kept mustache and a newsboy cap placed strategically over his bald spot. He stood far back, against a pillar, looking thoroughly out of place.

“Are you my uncle?” Renjun asked him.

“I guess you’re the brat I’m meant to be picking up,” he said, in a voice like a low bark. “You look just like that woman.”

“Why weren’t you looking for me?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t show up.”

That night, as Renjun waited to fall asleep, he thought of his mother again.

A few feet away, his uncle’s breathing passed in and out in a heavy, shuffling rhythm, somehow sounding like bare feet being dragged through sand, a not-quite snore. If Renjun had known better at the time, he would have recognized that this was not his uncle’s proper snore, which meant he was not properly asleep -- it was only because he thought his uncle _was_ asleep that he allowed himself to cry. At first it was nothing but tears, the trickle of a faulty faucet. Then it was an overflow, hand clasped over mouth to try and muffle the sound, but it escaped anyway, like the howl of a wounded puppy.

“Shut the fuck up,” his uncle said.

Renjun tried, but could not make himself.

Seconds later, he was being pushed out the bedroom door, the blanket from his bed tossed out after him. The bedroom door slammed shut.

Renjun curled up on the couch but did not fall asleep.

\---

“Do you like it here?” asked the lady with the clipboard. Today, her false lashes were on straight.

“Yes,” Renjun said.

She sat perched on the very edge of the sofa, and Renjun did not blame her, because that sofa smelled like mold and cigarettes (he knew this well because it was, in fact, the very one he’d been banished to a week prior). He was opposite her, in his uncle’s armchair. He was never allowed in his uncle’s armchair, but with the government lady in their apartment, Renjun knew his uncle would say nothing. Instead, his uncle would put on a false smile and offer the woman a glass of water, then stand just around the corner in the kitchen, listening to every word Renjun said to her, like a lurking shadow.

“I know it can be hard to adjust to new places, but I think in time you’ll grow to like it here very much,” the woman said.

“I already said I liked it,” Renjun responded.

The woman shuffled her papers, then nervously twisted a stand of her hair around her finger. “Ah, I see,” she squeaked. “Well, that’s good. And your uncle is nice to you?”

Renjun heard his uncle cough from the kitchen.

“Yes,” Renjun said.

“Lovely, lovely.” She capped her pen and slipped her papers into the pocket of her briefcase. “Thank you, Renjun. I’ll be on my way, then.”

She stood, the click of her too-tall heels muffled against the dirty carpet. Renjun reached out and grabbed the strap of her purse before she could get too far, and asked, “Do you know what’s happened with my mother?”

The woman nearly stumbled, but steadied herself on the back of the armchair. “Ah -- I don’t know, Renjun. I’m not really privy to that kind of information.” She said it like it was an apology.

He knew she was lying to him, but he let go of her purse anyway and stared down at the floor.

His uncle came out then, meeting the woman at the door and bowing low, a pathetic, groveling smile plastered on his face. “Yes, yes, visit any time -- thank you for all your hard work.”

Renjun wanted to throw up at the sight of it.

Once the woman left and his uncle closed the door behind her, he turned to Renjun and said, “Get the hell out of my chair.”

Renjun obliged.

He had stopped trying to put up a fight on day three. That afternoon, while he stood at the sink washing the dishes, Renjun had asked his uncle if he would be able to begin taking ballet lessons again.

“_Ballet?_” his uncle had sneered. “No man in my house is going to be taking ballet lessons.”

“My mom let me take them.”

“Your mom is a loon.”

Renjun wanted very badly to break the plate in his hands over his uncle’s head.

“Please. I’ll do more chores,” Renjun offered through gritted teeth. “And it will get me out of your hair each day --”

“And when the kids at school rough you up, you’ll come crying to me about it.” His uncle slammed his hand against the dining room table. “It’s not going to happen. Things are different around here. No ballet. And no bargaining. _‘I’ll do more chores,’_ you say -- you’ll do as many chores as I tell you to, because I’m the goddamn adult.”

Renjun scrubbed weakly at a stain.

“You know what?” his uncle continued. “I think I’ll sign you up for some more language classes. That’s what you ought to be spending time on. If you’re going to live here, you need to adapt.”

Renjun sighed. His Chinese was fine. It was Wenzhou that was the problem. To him, everyone there sounded like they were speaking backwards. Like they were speaking underwater. That was another thing that made school hard: barely being able to talk to his classmates. When they switched to Mandarin around him, it made him feel like a nuisance.

At the very least, Renjun was used to feeling like a nuisance. He recalled one night, when he was eleven years old, that he could not sleep. At school that day, another boy had asked him if he was invited to Hanyu’s birthday party. He had not been. In fact, that had been his first time hearing about the party at all. Renjun had been Hanyu’s friend since the third grade. Why wasn’t he invited? Was it because he wasn’t any fun? Was it because other boys stopped laughing when he entered a room? Was it because he couldn’t afford to get Hanyu a nice birthday gift? The more Renjun thought about it, the sicker he felt. He sat up, turned on his bedside light, and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. On his window sill, a moth fluttered. Over and over, it crashed into the glass, thinking there was nothing there. He considered opening the window and letting it free. But he did not.

“Why are you still awake, sweetie?” His mother opened his bedroom door, face drawn into a sensitive frown.

“I’m worried,” Renjun said.

“About what?” She walked over to him and sat on the edge of his bed. Upclose, Renjun could see her dark circles and the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. But at that moment, her eyes were warm, alive, present; and that was all he needed of her.

“I don’t think my friends like me,” he admitted.

She stroked his cheek with tender affection. “Why do you say that?”

“Because they don’t want me around. Because I’m no good at talking to them.”

His mother sighed. Gently, she pushed him down onto his pillow and laid his blanket over him, tucking him in at the chin. “If they knew the real you,” she said, “they would love you.”

“Who’s the real me?” Renjun asked.

“The Renjun who dances so beautifully at his recitals,” she said. “The Renjun who’s a star.”

She turned his light off. All night, he listened to the moth beat its little body against the glass.

\---

The rest of the ninth grade passed in quiet agony.

Renjun turned fifteen with no fanfare. On his birthday, his uncle did not spare him a second glance. Renjun doubted he even knew it was his birthday at all. Still, a celebration was in order. When his uncle went to the casino that night, Renjun stole a fifty yuan bill from beneath his mattress and walked to a local bakery to buy some sweets. On his way home, all the while stuffing cookies into his mouth, Renjun stopped outside a little store with TVs in its display window. He watched a program where some pop stars danced on a brightly lit stage. Beneath their feet, the glass glowed bright blue, with flickers of white light like falling snow. Confetti showered from the ceiling above them. Renjun wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to dance on a stage like that. He thought he might lose himself in all the lights. Maybe that’s why the people in the audience screamed their names: to keep them tied to earth.

The iced sidewalks had begun to melt that week. Renjun stepped through a puddle, dragging his toes, distorting the image of the neon lights that was reflected from its surface. He felt his socks get wet through his shoes, but he didn’t mind it.

When he got home, his uncle was still gone. The apartment was dark. But then, from the kitchen, there was a small square of flashing orange, and the sound of the phone ringing. Renjun walked to it, dragging his fingers along the wall to guide him through the pitch black. He fumbled for the receiver. When he hit the button and held it to his ear, he heard soft breathing on the other end. But it wasn’t eery or uncomfortable. It was somehow warm.

“Hello?” he said.

There was a beat of silence, then the intake of breath. “Renjun?”

His free hand found the edge of the counter to steady himself. “Mom?”

“Renjun…”

He hadn’t heard her voice in five months. He bit on his bottom lip to keep from crying.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I can’t talk for very long. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Okay.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Is your uncle home?”

“No.”

“Is school going okay? Did you make new friends?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me, Renjun? Are you okay?”

“No. Yes.”

The phone crackled.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s late. You should go to bed.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you again soon. Be a good boy for your uncle. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She hung up.

Renjun was alone in the dark. He mopped the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve, then, like a good boy, did as he was told and went to bed.

\---

Renjun never knew his father, but he wondered how things might be different if he did. Once, he had worked up the nerve to ask his uncle if he knew anything about him, but of course he should have known better, because what his uncle said was, “Your mother whored herself out to so many men, there would be no way to know whose bastard child you are.”

“That’s not true,” Renjun said. For as long as he remembered, his mother never saw any men, at least after he was born. It was always just the two of them, and they liked it that way.

“It is. And you’re lucky I got you out of there when I did,” his uncle continued, raising a finger in Renjun’s direction, “because you would have been next. If your mother needed to sell you on the streets to pay for her pills, she would have done it in the blink of an eye.”

This was the moment when Renjun decided definitively that his uncle knew absolutely nothing about his mother.

He knew she was not perfect, of course. She didn’t think straight and she was an addict and she didn’t make good decisions all the time. But he also believed that if it came down to it, she would give up her drugs before she gave up his ballet lessons. And she would never hurt him, no matter what.

Ever since the night she had called, he jumped every time the phone rang.

If his uncle was home, he would watch with bated breath as the man picked up the handset. He wondered if his uncle knew that his mother had called before, because with the phone under his chin, he would often watch Renjun with a chiding, pitying expression, as if he knew what the boy was waiting for. If any of the phone calls his uncle received were in fact from his mother, Renjun would never know.

If his uncle was not home, Renjun would hurry to pick up the phone, prematurely excited at the thought of his mother on the other end. Of course, it never was her. But he still liked to imagine that someday, it might be.

Renjun’s summer vacation was quiet, uneventful, miserable. It was hotter in Wenzhou than in Jilin, and the little noisy fan in the apartment window did little to kill the heat. Renjun took to wandering around the streets in their neighborhood, looking for cool, isolated places to sit and avoid the sun.

Once, he found a crumbled, dead end alley where flowers grew up from between the cracked slats of concrete. Pretty ones, with pink and yellow and blue blossoms. He ran home to retrieve a bowl. Then he returned and began to dig up his favorite one, carefully setting its roots in the dish and packing dirt around it to hold it steady.

His mother used to have many plants. They filled the window sills, in their mismatched pots, like eccentric, mixed-up families. His mother doted on them, keeping them well-watered and close to the sun. Of course, on her Bad Days, she did not, so Renjun would water them for her, filling the tiny tin watering can at the kitchen sink before giving each plant a long drink. The Bad Days accumulated. Renjun began to forget about the plants, because he was too preoccupied by his mother’s forgetfulness and recklessness and need to be cared for.

By the time he was taken away, every plant had withered and died.

Presently, he came home and watered his new adoptee from the tap, then set it in the kitchen window. The sunlight turned its yellow petals to gold.

Renjun did not know that wildflowers do not grow well indoors, though that did not matter; when he awoke the next morning, having tiptoed past his sleeping uncle, he found the plant uprooted and lying at the bottom of the trash can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	2. Chapter 2

Renjun’s first kiss was a girl who’s name he never bothered to learn. She sat behind him in homeroom, applied her eyeliner in smudgy, thick rings, and always wore her skirt hiked up so short that she got detention for it on more than one occasion. One day she stopped him in the hall and asked him if he would let her kiss him. Then she told him about how her best friend had just lost her virginity to her boyfriend, which was no fair, because she hadn’t even had her first kiss yet, let alone her first boyfriend. So she needed to kiss a boy to try and get even, which Renjun thought was all very silly, because why did kissing and dating and sex need to be a competition?

“What do I get out of this?” he asked her.

“I’ll buy you an ice cream bar at lunch.”

This seemed a reasonable trade to Renjun, so he let her drag him beneath the staircase and kiss him. This was when he decided he did not like kissing very much, because for one thing it was too wet (her spit tasted like fruity gum), and for another thing their teeth bumped painfully together in a way that made him flinch. Once satisfied, she gave him a friendly yet awkward pat on the shoulder. Then they walked to the cafeteria together, where she bought him an ice cream sandwich before going to sit with her friends, likely about to gab to them all about her first kiss.

Renjun ate his ice cream alone in the classroom.

His second kiss was Dong Sicheng.

They first met when Renjun was in the hospital. The day before, his uncle had come home to find green paint splashed on the carpet. Renjun had spilled it there while working on a school project, then spent the next hour doing everything in his power to remove it: dish soap, laundry detergent, peroxide, but none of it did anything to lift the pigment. He worked himself into such a fervor that he thought he might start to bawl, knowing that it would be trouble when his uncle returned from work. And he had been right -- when his uncle saw the stain, he grabbed Renjun by the collar of his shirt and dragged him right out the front door, shouting something about what an insolent, stupid child he was and shoving him as hard as he could into the hall. Renjun tripped on the edge of the carpet, stumbling to the top step; and then, he crashed down the full flight of stairs and snapped his radius clean in two.

When the doctor at the hospital asked what had happened, Renjun said he slipped and fell. Technically, this was the truth.

He was cradling his newly-splinted arm when Sicheng walked into the room. Renjun recognized him from school. Everyone knew Sicheng, the handsome, charismatic senior who always had a posse of friends surrounding him, yet somehow still stood out from the crowd. Even Renjun, who paid little attention to such things, was aware of Sicheng, though they had never spoken, which was why he was so confused when the other boy walked into his hospital room.

“Are you lost?” Renjun asked.

“No. Huang Renjun, right?” Sicheng smiled bashfully. Even being so popular, he didn’t seem bigheaded or stuck up. There was something sweet and sincere about his face, with no pretense. Maybe, Renjun thought, his being handsome was not the only reason he was so well-liked.

“Yes,” he responded.

“I’m Dong Sicheng. Is it okay if I sit down?”

“Yes.”

Sicheng dragged a chair to Renjun’s bedside. “I heard that one of the underclassmen was in the hospital,” he said, “and I wanted to come and see if you were okay.” He looked at Renjun’s arm. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay,” Renjun said.

“Is it serious?”

“They put special wire in my arm so the bones don’t move. They’re keeping me here in case there’s an infection.”

“Oh,” Sicheng said, eyes wide. “Did they knock you out?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize… if you’re too tired to talk, I can leave.”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Renjun nodded.

“Ah -- I brought you this.” Sicheng reached into his messenger bag and retrieved a card. “Here.”

Renjun opened it. Inside was a picture of a teddy bear with a bandage wrapped around its head, framed by the words, “GET WELL SOON.” In the corner, Sicheng had written, “Feel better!!” with the exclamation points turned into the eyes of a smiley face, then signed his name beneath it.

“Thanks,” Renjun said, unnerved by the overt friendliness of it all.

“And this too.” Sicheng handed him a box of chocolates. “I didn’t know if you would like it, but I thought it was worth a shot.”

“Oh.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

Renjun opened the box and popped a caramel-filled truffle into his mouth.

“Have any of your friends stopped by?” Sicheng asked.

“No,” Renjun said plainly. “I don’t have any friends.”

Sicheng awkwardly tried to flatten a wrinkle in his shirt. “Ah… I see…”

“Thank you for the chocolates,” Renjun said.

“You’re welcome.”

Renjun held out the box. “Want one?”

\---

Renjun’s uncle drove him home without looking at him once. Every time they hit a bump, Renjun felt a jolt of pain in his arm.

The pills the doctor gave him made him groggy. He wanted to go lay down in his bed, but as he made to walk there he heard his uncle call from the bathroom in a low growl, “Renjun!”

“What?” He leaned against the bathroom doorway to steady himself.

“Look,” his uncle said, pointing an accusing finger at the tub. “You didn’t wash the tub like I told you to.”

Renjun almost could not believe what he was hearing. Almost.

“I guess I forgot,” he responded.

“You’ll clean it, now,” his uncle said. “I’m going out for the evening, and if it isn’t spotless when I get back, it’ll be trouble for you.” His finger shifted from the tub to Renjun’s face. It felt dangerously like a threat.

“Okay.”

His uncle stomped out to the living room, pulled his boots on, and left.

Renjun grabbed the spray bottle and a cloth from beneath the sink, and climbed into the tub.

With only one usable hand, the chore became a trial. Within minutes his good arm was nearly as sore as his bad one, and his eyes kept sliding shut, heavy with exhaustion. The cloudiness in his head dragged him down into the dark.

He awoke with his face pressed to the tile wall.

He looked around and found he had nearly finished cleaning before he’d fallen asleep. Hurriedly, he gave it one more pass with the cloth, then clamored out from the tub. He was dizzy and nearly slipped, but grabbed onto the lip of the sink. When he looked in the mirror, his eyes were ringed by dark circles, and his hair greasy and mussed. He hoped he hadn’t looked so haggard when Sicheng had visited him in the hospital.

Slowly, he made his way out of the bathroom. He peered into the dim, shadowy kitchen, in the hope that he might see the orange glow of a missed call from the counter, but he saw no such thing. Suddenly, he was very angry. He wondered how many times his mother must have called over the past few months (because of course she had, he thought, didn’t she miss him?), how many times his uncle had answered it, how many times his mother had asked to talk to him, only to be jeered at and hung up on. The image Renjun conjured in his head stirred the dormant bitterness in his gut. What gave his uncle the right to keep him from his mother? What gave him the right to push him out the front door? To make him wash the tub when he’d just left the hospital with a broken arm?

With a furious buzzing taking over his brain, Renjun marched into the bedroom and yanked open his uncle’s nightstand drawer. Inside was a lighter, a deck of cards, and a notepad. Renjun pulled out the pad and carelessly rifled through its pages, eyes scanning them for a phone number, an address, anything that might lead him to his mother. There had to be something, somewhere.

When he found nothing, he replaced the pad and slammed the drawer shut. Next, with some difficulty, he lifted his uncle’s mattress. There was his wad of cash, all the bills folded and stuck together, and beside it, a yellowed, wrinkled piece of paper. Renjun picked it up, only to find a list of his uncle’s finances.

He tore open the cabinets in the kitchen and turned over the cushions of the couch, but still found nothing. Frustrated tears pricking at his eyes, Renjun threw himself down onto his bed, forgetting his splinted arm and jarring it into sharp, sudden pain. The tears spilled over. Renjun swore and bit down on his pillow.

His uncle came home at midnight with a woman on his arm. Renjun defeatedly dragged his mattress into the living room, took his medicine, and waited for it to put him to sleep.

\---

Seven AM. The light from the window was a murky shimmer, illuminating the dust that drifted about like snow beneath a streetlight. Renjun turned his head to discover what had awoken him -- the woman from his uncle’s bedroom, who carried her shoes in one hand, and with her other, rummaged through the pile of mail on the coffee table, just a few feet away from where Renjun lay. Her hair looked as though it had been curled the night before, but after sleeping on it it had flattened into ragged, volumeless waves. Similarly, the makeup on her face had not been washed off before bed -- her blush was a dark stain that dragged downwards towards her mouth.

“Hello,” Renjun said.

Spooked, she took a step back and looked at him with round, nervous eyes. When she saw it was only a boy, she stood a little straighter and placed a hand over her chest, like she was calming her heartbeat. “Hi,” she said warily.

“What are you looking for?”

“My keys,” she said. “I thought I had them in my purse, but I can’t find them…” She trailed off, running a hand over her face. The blush transferred to her fingers.

Renjun sat up and peered over the table. “Are those them?” He pointed to where a ring of keys lay, by the leg of the coffee table.

“Oh -- that’s them, yes.” She bent down, picked them up, then looked back at Renjun with a curious expression. “Are you his kid?”

“His nephew.”

“Ah.” Her gaze lowered. “What happened to your arm?”

“I fell.”

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“Yes,” Renjun said. “Have you ever broken your arm?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Oh.” Somehow disappointed, Renjun scratched the back of his head with his good hand. “Do you have any kids?”

“I don’t.”

“Do you have a job?”

Thrown off by the sudden interrogation, the woman hastily shoved her keys into her purse. “I have to get going.”

“Okay,” Renjun said. He had thought maybe she was friendly, but it seemed he was mistaken. His shoulders slumped.

The woman cast him one last sympathetic look, and asked, “Do you want a piece of gum?”

“Okay.”

“It’s peppermint. Do you like peppermint?”

“Yes.”

She pulled the pack from her purse and opened it, staring at the rows of silver-wrapped morsels. Then, with a subtle shake of her head, she handed Renjun the whole thing.

“Keep it,” she said.

“Thanks,” he responded.

The woman left.

Renjun did not know how to feel about being pitied by a prostitute.

\---

Renjun returned to school five days later. He had gone back to the hospital the day prior to have his cast put on. He did not ask anyone in his class to sign it.

At lunch time, he walked to the cafeteria to buy a carton of milk. As he was about to head out the door and back to class, he heard a yell from behind him.

“Huang Renjun!”

He turned. At one of the tables was Dong Sicheng, half-risen from his seat with his hand raised and a blindingly bright smile on his face. Surrounding him were his many friends, all of whom were now staring at Renjun with wide, confused stares.

Renjun shyly waved back.

Sicheng motioned him over with an exaggerated gesture, mouthing the words, “Come on! Come on!”

Renjun briefly considered making a break for it, but he remembered the saccharine taste of chocolate on his tongue, and decided he owed Sicheng his company, at least once.

Sicheng urged his friend beside him to scoot down a little and make room for Renjun on the bench. “Everyone -- this is Renjun, one of the freshmen. I met him a few days ago and he’s cool.”

Renjun slipped into place beside Sicheng while avoiding all eye contact with the others at the table.

“How does your arm feel?” Sicheng asked him.

“It’s okay.”

Sicheng scanned Renjun up and down with a frown. “Where’s your lunch? Do you only have milk today?”

“I left it in the classroom.”

“Ah, darn.” Sicheng slid his tray halfway between them. “Here. Have some of mine, then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You can save your lunch for later. Second lunch.”

Renjun shrugged, then took a bite. It was the first time he’d had the school lunch -- as expected, it was barely edible, though Sicheng did not seem to mind.

A boy opposite them leaned his elbow on the table, eyeing Renjun with a curious expression. “What happened to your arm?”

Renjun was beginning to become quite sick of that question.

“I broke it.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. I meant, how did you break it?”

“Fell.”

The other boy waited, as if he thought Renjun would say more. Renjun did not.

“He had to have surgery on it and everything,” Sicheng offered, trying to keep the conversation alive. “I’ve never broken a bone. It must be awful.”

A round-faced girl said, “Oh, wow. Did it hurt a lot, Renjun?”

“Yeah.”

“How long do you need to have your cast on?”

Renjun became suddenly aware that every eye was on him. That made him nervous, and that nervousness made him forget. Was it six weeks? Eight? For some reason, he looked to Sicheng, as if he would know the answer to that question. Sicheng stared back at him, clueless.

Renjun quietly continued eating.

“Where’d you even find this kid?” the first boy asked. “He’s weird.”

“Hey.” Sicheng’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be like that.”

“It’s true, though.”

Renjun wanted to disappear.

Without another word, he stood and left as quickly as he could manage. When he reached just outside the cafeteria, he heard Sicheng calling his name from behind. He turned to find him running to catch up, concern written on his face.

“Hey,” Sicheng managed, out of breath. “You forgot this.” He held out Renjun’s carton of milk.

“Ah.”

“What’d you leave for?” Sicheng asked. “It wasn’t my fault, was it?”

Renjun shook his head. “I’m no good at talking to people.”

Sicheng studied him with a puzzled expression. It occured to Renjun then that Sicheng had no concept of social awkwardness -- he’d been blessed with natural charm his whole life. When Sicheng spoke, no one scoffed or rolled their eyes. When he told a joke, no matter how unfunny, someone would laugh. Renjun found himself feeling jealous.

“Just copy me, then,” Sicheng said. He pushed the carton into Renjun’s hands.

A light flickered on in Renjun’s head.

\---

The next day, Sicheng walked into Renjun’s homeroom at 7:56 AM. The other freshmen craned around to watch, mystified. “What’s Dong Sicheng doing here?” one girl said, too loudly. Another girl shushed her. Sicheng walked to Renjun’s desk, in the back corner of the room, and stood in front of it, oblivious to all the stares and murmurs.

“Hey,” he said. “Wanna hang out after school today?”

Renjun rubbed his eyes, as if this might have all been some kind of hallucination induced by early-morning sleepiness. It was not. “Okay,” he responded warily.

“What’s your phone number? I’ll text you when my last class is over and we can meet up.”

“I don’t have a cellphone.”

“Oh. Then I’ll come and pick you up here.”

“Okay.”

Sicheng tapped his fingers on the edge of Renjun’s desk, like a pronounced period to end their conversation, then walked away. He waved to the rest of the class, wearing a sweet smile, before exiting into the hallway.

The boy sitting in front of Renjun turned around in his seat. “What was that all about?” he asked.

Renjun shrugged and pulled out his textbook.

At the end of the day, he waited for Sicheng to arrive. All of the other students filed out before him, backpacks slung over shoulders, feet fast towards freedom. Five minutes after the room emptied, Sichend appeared.

“Ready?” he asked.

Renjun stood and followed.

“Is it really okay for you to come over?” Sicheng asked. “I don’t want you to get in trouble with your parents.”

“It’s fine.” Renjun often disappeared during the day anyways; his uncle didn’t seem to care whether he came home or not. “I can stay out till whenever.”

“Oh. Your parents must be super cool, then.”

Renjun bit back a bitter laugh.

Sicheng lived a short walk from the school. Renjun had never been to this particular part of town, but it certainly was nicer than his own neighborhood, the streets litterless and lined by small trees. When they arrived, Renjun saw it was a tidy, white-walled, two-story house, and he got the distinct impression that Sicheng’s family, while not rich, were much better off than he was used to.

Sicheng led him through the yard, up the front steps, and in through the front door.

Inside, it was just as well-kempt. The kitchen counters were spotless, the granite shining beneath the bright ceiling light. Sicheng’s mother, who stood at the stove, seemed to belong perfectly in the space -- pretty face, kind eyes, pink apron tied around her waist without a single wrinkle.

“Sicheng,” she called. “Who’s your friend? Have I met him before?”

“No. He’s one of the freshmen.”

Renjun gave a shy bow and introduced himself.

“Do you two want something to eat?” she asked. “I went shopping this morning, so there’s plenty to choose from.”

“Maybe later,” Sicheng said. “We’re gonna go to my room.”

“Alright, boys. And Renjun, you’re welcome to stay for dinner if you want.”

Renjun found himself speechless. He was not used to such… normalcy. It was like Sicheng’s house operated in its own little world, oblivious to everything outside. He knew, of course, that this was not the case -- many people lived happy, average lives. It was just not something he had ever conceived of as being true, rather as only a construct of TV sitcoms.

When they walked into Sicheng’s bedroom, Renjun was taken aback. The wall beside his bed was covered from top to bottom in posters, to the point that the white paint underneath was fully concealed. On a desk nearby was a near-tipping stack of CDs, their contents strewn across the surface in a collage of faces.

Sicheng noticed Renjun staring, and smiled in embarrassment. “Ah -- I’m kind of a crazy fan.”

“Who are they?” Renjun asked, stepping closer to examine the posters. It was a boy band, all dressed in elaborate outfits and shooting coy looks at the camera. Renjun was not very familiar with pop stars. He and his mother had usually listened to classical music, since it was supposed to make plants grow better. They would put on Mozart’s symphonies while they watered, and in his head, Renjun would choreograph a ballet routine. Then, he would perform it for her, and she would clap, smiling from ear to ear.

“_Superstar,_” Sicheng responded. “They’re a k-pop group. Do you know k-pop?”

“I think I’ve seen it on TV before. I didn’t watch it too close, though. Are they popular?”

“They’re only the most popular group in Korea right now.” Sicheng’s eyes lit up as he began to describe them, clearly overjoyed at being able to share his hobby. “They’re big in China, too. All of the members are so talented -- singing, dancing, everything… I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“No. It’s okay.”

“I just really admire them,” Sicheng said, blushing slightly. “I actually…”

“Actually what?”

“Well.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, twiddling nervously with the ends of his sleeves. “I’ve actually been training. To audition.”

“To audition for a k-pop band?” Renjun asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” Sicheng turned to his wall, face full of affection for his idols. “Ever since I was little, I wanted to be like them. I started training properly when I was eleven… And, actually, I’ve auditioned before. Twice. But it didn’t work out.”

“Oh.” Renjun sat down on the bed beside him. “Are you going to audition again?”

Sicheng put on a resilient grin. “Of course. There’s actually an audition coming up in two months in Wenzhou, for CZN Entertainment -- that’s Superstar’s company. Wouldn’t that be the dream?” Sicheng laid back, letting out a musing sigh. “Imagine, being under the same label as Superstar. It would change my life.”

Renjun wondered if he had ever met anyone who wanted something as badly as Sicheng wanted to be an idol. It seemed unlikely, judging from the deep, impassioned glow in Sicheng’s eyes. He’d been preparing for seven years, and not given up. If anyone should be an idol, Renjun thought, it ought to be someone like Sicheng. Someone who had the drive and the commitment and the adoration.

“I used to dance, you know,” Renjun said. For some reason, he hadn’t wanted to admit it, like it was some kind of private information. Perhaps, it was because if Sicheng knew that much about him, it might mean they were close enough to be called friends, and that scared him. Why, he didn’t know.

“You danced?” Sicheng sat quickly back up. “What kind?”

“Ballet. I took lessons for a long time.”

“Whoa,” Sicheng said. “You know, I can kind of imagine it. You look like you might make a good dancer.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Like, a gut thing.” His jaw dropped suddenly, like he’d just had a brilliant idea. “Me and you --” The words tumbled out, pushed along by eager excitement. “We should learn a routine together! You could come to my studio!”

“Oh --” Renjun felt a rush of happiness, followed by a rush of disappointment. “Actually, I don’t think I would be allowed to…”

“What?” Sicheng’s face fell. “Why not?”

“My uncle doesn’t want me to dance. I asked him if I could take lessons again, but he said no.”

Sicheng raised a brow, intrigued by mention of Renjun’s uncle rather than his parents. But he knew better than to press for information Renjun did not offer up himself. “Well. You could just not tell him.”

Renjun felt a mischievous, optimistic stirring in his stomach. “You’re right. It could be a secret.”

“Then let’s do it. After school tomorrow, I’ll bring you to the studio, and we’ll dance.” Sicheng stood and walked to his desk, picking up one of his CDs and holding it out to Renjun. “Here. You’ll need this.”

Renjun took it. “Why?”

“Listen to track three. That’ll be the song we learn.”

The album felt curiously heavy in Renjun’s hand, as if Sicheng’s reverence had given it weight.

\---

It had not occurred to either of them how Renjun was supposed to dance with only one arm.

“Just learn the footwork for now. We can worry about hand movements later,” Sicheng said.

“But it’s awkward,” Renjun responded. “It feels like I’m not doing the choreography correctly.”

“Well, technically, you aren’t.”

Renjun stepped purposefully on Sicheng’s toes.

They were at the studio, standing in front of the wall of mirrors. It felt strange to Renjun, to be in such a place again -- he was both perfectly at home and distinctly out of place. There were no scheduled classes on Monday or Wednesday afternoons, so those were their designated practice times, alone apart from their reflections. They’d walked there directly after school let out, and on their way, Sicheng had told Renjun more about his training. As it turned out, Sicheng, like Renjun, had actually been dancing since he was very young, learning traditional dance. When he was eleven, and had decided to pursue being an idol, he switched to hip hop and modern dance. Renjun found himself in awe of Sicheng’s devotion to his dream -- seven years, practicing nearly every single day. Renjun wondered how he managed to maintain his social life at all, let alone one so vibrant and full.

“It’s all in the smile,” Sicheng had told him. “Smile, and the people will come to you.”

Renjun had, in fact, taken Sicheng’s advice to heart -- _just copy me, then,_ he had said. Now, anytime they walked down the hall, Sicheng’s arm thrown over Renjun’s shoulder, and another student approached, Renjun studied Sicheng’s body. The carefree way he ran his hand through his hair, the confident posture, the warm heart-shaped smile on his lips.

In the bathroom mirror, Renjun would try to replicate it. The smile never looked right when he tried. Too forced. But, just like dance, these things took practice, Sicheng assured him.

Now, in the studio, Renjun found himself quickly readjusting. The steps were not the kind he was used to -- strong instead of graceful, quick instead of languid. However, he was a fast learner, and by the end of the hour, he had the basic steps all down.

“Wow,” Sicheng said. He was sitting collapsed on the floor, out of breath, forehead beaded with sweat. “You’re really good. Better than me.”

“That’s not true.” Renjun felt suddenly shy. He sat down beside him. “I’m not that good.”

“You are,” Sicheng insisted. “You’re a natural.”

Renjun recalled a moment from his childhood. He was backstage at his very first recital, age eight. Behind the velvet curtain, the light from the spotlight was cast sideways, outlining his mother’s face in harsh white. He was beyond nervous, fingers trembling, chewing his bottom lip. What if he did a step wrong? What if he fell, right in front of everybody? What if he screwed it up, and the other kids became angry at him for ruining their routine?

His mother could see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Renjun,” she murmured. “Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” she said firmly. “You were born for this.”

Then she gave him a gentle push, and he walked out onto the stage. He heard the crowd cheering. It lit something up inside of him.

“A natural,” Renjun repeated.

“Yeah.” Sicheng stretched, arms over his head. “By the way. I noticed you mouthing the words under your breath. How’d you learn the lyrics so quickly?”

“Oh. I speak Korean.”

“You what?” Sicheng fell quickly out of his stretch and grabbed onto Renjun’s shoulder. “You speak Korean?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His eyes were huge with shock. “That’s, like, a major skill!”

“I dunno. I guess I didn’t think of it.”

“Damn.” Sicheng shook his head. “How’d you learn it?”

“I’m from Jilin. I learned it in school.”

“So you’re telling me you can dance _and_ speak Korean? You were made to be a k-pop idol! How am I supposed to compete with that?” Sicheng gave him a playfully exasperated grin.

“It’s not _that_ amazing,” Renjun said.

“Seems pretty amazing to me.”

Renjun found himself at a loss for words when he saw the genuine, awestruck look of admiration in Sicheng’s eyes.

“Let’s go through it again,” Sicheng said, standing and willing his weariness away. “Then you can teach me some vocab.”

Renjun allowed himself a small smile. He saw it in the mirror, and was surprised at how natural it looked on his face.

\---

At school, things got better.

Renjun worked up the nerve to sit with Sicheng at lunch again. This time, he was prepared.

“I heard that you’re training to audition with Sicheng,” a girl asked from across the table.

Renjun grinned bashfully. “Well, I don’t know about auditioning… but I am working on a routine. I used to dance when I was little, so it’s nice to be able to do it again.”

“Aww, that’s sweet!” she cooed. “You should let the rest of us come see it sometime. Can we, Sicheng?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Not to hype ourselves up too much, but we look pretty cool. Some might say we even look like proper idols.” Sicheng’s chest swelled with giddy pride.

“He’s over exaggerating,” Renjun said. “I’ve never seen an idol with his arm in a sling.”

The rest of the table chorused in laughter.

When the bell rang, Sicheng followed Renjun down the hall, tugging at his sleeve. “Man, you sounded exactly like me just then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just the way you were talking. It reminded me of myself. Creepy, but in a good way.” Sicheng rubbed his arms as if trying to warm away his shivers.

“Was it weird?” Renjun asked.

“No. I don’t mean it badly. It just feels like you’re really improving. At making friends, I mean.”

“Oh.” Sicheng was right, of course -- Renjun had been copying him. He’d done his best to replicate his easy demeanor and gentle humour, and it had worked. He was surprised at how easy it was becoming. Perhaps he spent too much time around the other boy.

“But you know,” Sicheng said. “You don’t have to act like that around me. I like you when you’re just being yourself.”

Renjun put a hand to his face, hoping it might hide his blush.

At home, things remained the same.

Renjun’s uncle, of course, did not notice his absence during the afternoons, as he was often either at work or the bar. Renjun would enter the apartment, basking in the perfect quiet, and lay back on his mattress, bones heavy from hard work, but feeling invigorated at the same time. He would turn his head, to where his uncle’s CD player sat in the corner. Usually, the album Sicheng had lent him was tucked into the front pocket of his school bag, out of sight from prying eyes, but when he was alone, Renjun liked to turn it on, filling the room with the sound of Sicheng’s inspiration.

The steps were becoming second nature. He found himself doing them without realizing it, during the middle of chores, his feet shuffling as he washed a dish. Sometimes, he stood as far back from the bathroom mirror as possible to create his own studio right there in the apartment, his dancing figure split in half by the long crack that ran down the mirror’s surface.

On the nights when his uncle was home, Renjun hid his happiness away. More than ever, he tried not to provoke, doing anything asked of him with a polite nod and spending most of his time sitting at the dining room table, bent over his homework. This way, he was inconspicuous, able to keep himself around Sicheng and himself around his uncle two separate entities.

That inconspicuousness, however, made no difference when his uncle was in one of his moods.

At the studio one day, Renjun was not thinking when he rolled up his sleeves to cool himself down.

“What is that?” Sicheng asked, pointing. Pressed into Renjun’s good arm were purpling bruises.

Renjun hurriedly pushed his sleeve back down. “It’s no big deal,” he said.

“It is,” Sicheng insisted. “What happened?”

The night before, Renjun had forgotten a pot boiling on the stove. He’d returned to it to find the water spilling over in a hissing slosh and running down the front of the oven into a steaming puddle on the floor. From the living room, his uncle watched, face reddening. Then he came over, as Renjun hurriedly tried to wipe up his mess, and grabbed him hard by the upper arm, yanking him out of the way.

“Can’t you even do something so simple?” his uncle had scolded, grip vice-tight. “Move. I’ll cook dinner myself.”

He did. Renjun was not offered any. Instead, he shut himself in the bedroom and stared at the ceiling while his stomach rumbled.

“Nothing, really,” Renjun told Sicheng. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Sicheng’s mouth was a straight, skeptical line. “Was it?”

Renjun said nothing.

“Was it your uncle?” Sicheng asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Renjun snapped before he could stop himself.

Sicheng, taken aback, looked away, only to find himself confronted by his and Renjun’s reflections. There, in the mirror, he found Renjun’s eyes.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he said. “About anything.”

Renjun shook his head. “No, I can’t.”

“Maybe someday, then.” The words were gentle, hopeful, curious, sewn together with affection.

Renjun felt undeserving of way Sicheng’s voice warmed him from the inside out.

\---

The audition was in December. Renjun had his cast removed two weeks prior.

He couldn’t stop bending and unbending his fingers. It was strange to feel fully in one piece (though at the same time, he did not; part of him was still in Jilin, had been all this time, waiting for his mother to come home). The skin of his arm was paper white, seemingly too tight, and his wrist no more than freshly-healed bone, looking thin enough to break again.

In the meantime, he and Sicheng had learned three more routines. Each step had become a science, meticulously memorized. Renjun sometimes found himself distracted by Sicheng as they danced: the surety with which he moved, the conviction in every line of his body. They were the motions of a boy who had been starved far too long for what he wanted, and that hunger made him sharp, brilliant, almost too bright to look at.

The city had become cold in the waning days of autumn. They walked home after a late night in the studio, everything around them turned blue by the rising moon, as if the world had been dropped underwater.

“It’s coming so fast,” Sicheng said, his breath white on the air. “The audition, I mean.”

“Are you nervous?” Renjun asked.

“Of course I am. I don’t want to fail it again.” He threw his head back with a worried groan. “I don’t know what I’m missing, Renjun. What do they see in everyone else that they don’t see in me? Am I not good-looking enough?”

“That isn’t it. You’re plenty good-looking,” Renjun said, cheeks red, and not only from the cold.

“What if I don’t make it?” Sicheng continued. To anyone else, he might have seemed his usual, unshaken self, but Renjun could sense the anxiety beneath the surface, manifesting as the slightest tremble in his voice. “I’ve spent so much time practicing. I don’t want it to all go to waste.”

“It won’t. I know it won’t. You’ll make it this time for sure.”

“That’s what I thought the last time.” Sicheng withdrew deeper into the collar of his coat. “I thought I had it in the bag. But there are a thousand other boys there, too, who are thinking the exact same thing. It’s impossible odds, really.” He pressed his lips together, as if willing himself not to speak. Finally, he said, “I’ve been thinking that I shouldn’t do it. That I should just quit. That I should stop wasting my time.”

“Don’t say that,” Renjun said, his voice more biting than he intended. He drew back, trying to speak carefully. “I bet none of those boys -- none of them want it like you do. You can’t give up now.”

“Want isn’t everything. You need talent, too. I hate to admit it, but I’m not sure that I have any natural talent.” Sicheng paused, before adding, “Not like you do.”

Renjun didn’t know what to say. Maybe Sicheng saw something in him that he didn’t see in himself. Looking at him now, Renjun saw none of the confidence in Sicheng’s eyes that he was used to. Only a hollow, fearful sadness.

“You know,” Renjun finally said. “I’ve been thinking about it, and, if you still want to… I think I’ll audition with you.”

Sicheng looked up at him, lips parted in surprise.

“I know I haven’t had much practice.” The words spilled out, clumsy in their shyness. “I know I’ve only just started learning, but… you’ve taught me a lot, and I feel like… I don’t know. I just feel like I should.”

Sicheng stared a moment longer. Then, his face softened into his perfect smile, the one that always put Renjun at ease. “I’m so happy. I… I was really so afraid, Renjun. I was afraid to do it all alone again. But if you’re there, too, it’ll make me try even harder. Because we’ll be in it together.”

“Together,” Renjun repeated.

“Can you imagine,” Sicheng said, “if we both got in? What if we both got into CZN, and we got to train together?” His voice grew louder, unable to contain his excitement. “What if we debuted together, Renjun? Wouldn’t that be incredible?”

Renjun could picture it now. The two of them onstage. The audience roaring their names. Sicheng, standing in front of cameras, in front of a million people who adored him without ever having met him. It was precisely where he belonged.

“Yeah,” Renjun said. “It would be incredible.”

They stopped walking, just down the road from Sicheng’s house, beneath the icy glow of a streetlight.

“Renjun,” Sicheng said.

Renjun looked to Sicheng’s face, and found it closer than he expected. And then Sicheng’s lips were on his lips, cold as ice from the evening air. It was not like his first kiss. It was chaste, delicate, lingering. Renjun stayed perfectly still.

When Sicheng pulled away, his brows were knit, and the corners of his mouth drawn down in nervous waiting. “Should I not have done that?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” Renjun said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Renjun said again.

“You still want to audition with me, right?” Sicheng stuffed his hands in his pockets, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Alright, then,” Sicheng murmured to himself. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.”

Sicheng went inside.

That night, as Renjun stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth, his mind raced.

_Sicheng kissed me._

Somehow, he couldn’t quite believe it.

_Sicheng was_ nervous _about kissing me._

He couldn’t believe this, either. He couldn’t believe that Sicheng, always confident, always in his element, would be nervous about kissing someone. Renjun wondered how many people Sicheng had kissed in his life.

_Sicheng wants me._

Renjun was not used to feeling wanted.

White toothpaste foam gathered at the corner of his mouth. He bent away from the mirror and spit it out.

\---

The audition came during winter break.

The last days of school moved by slowly, awkwardly. Renjun and Sicheng remained inseparable, yet the atmosphere was wholly different. Every playful nudge, every arm slung over shoulder no longer seemed to have its careless, organic feeling. If the other kids noticed, no one said anything. Sicheng, of course, was excellent at acting normal around them. And by now, Renjun was no slouch, either.

Once school let out, they had more time to practice, which they utilized as best they could: long nights in the studio, sore feet, the constant mopping of brows with towels. If either of them thought about the kiss, they did not mention it -- they were too focused on their dancing.

The night before the audition, Sicheng broke. Renjun had been shoving his stuff into his bag, then turned to see Sicheng sitting against the wall, face buried in his hands.

“Hey.” Renjun came closer, crouching beside him. “Sicheng.”

The other boy did not look up, only pressed his palms into his eyes.

“We’re going to do just fine,” Renjun reassured him. “We deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Sicheng said. “I don’t deserve it.”

“You do.” Renjun took him by the wrist, uncovering his face. Sicheng’s eyes were wet with tears. “Trust me,” Renjun said.

Sicheng nodded.

When Renjun awoke the next day, he was filled with nervous energy. He hadn’t expected to be so nervous, since his decision to audition at all had been more a whim than anything. Perhaps he wanted it more than he knew. Or, he was nervous for Sicheng. However much he wanted it, he wanted it for Sicheng more.

They rode the bus together downtown. When they pulled up in front of the building, Renjun was intimidated by its facade, all massive windows above a banner that read “TODAY, 10 TO 5 -- AUDITIONS FOR CZN ENTERTAINMENT -- MALE TRAINEES.”

“This is us,” Renjun said.

As they stepped off the bus, he felt Sicheng’s hand reach out and cling onto his coat sleeve. Together, they went inside.

\---

“Number 344.”

Renjun looked up. A woman stood in the doorway, a clipboard propped on her hip.

He followed her inside.

It had been three hours since they’d arrived. Once they got there, they signed in at the registration and were given number badges. Then, they were split up -- Sicheng was put in a line with some older boys, while Renjun was sent in the other direction, to a long hallway where the other hopefuls stretched in a line along the wall.

“What’s your name?” a boy beside him had asked.

Renjun, too anxious to pretend to be charming, had shot him a warning look then stared at the floor. The boy did not speak to him again.

The line had moved shockingly slowly. All the while, Renjun had wondered what Sicheng was doing. Was he still in line, too? Had he already auditioned? Was he auditioning right now? What were the staff thinking? Did they see in Sicheng what Renjun saw in Sicheng?

Renjun had begun to bite his nails.

As he entered now, he did everything he could to put Sicheng from his mind. This was his moment.

Across the room was a little table, where a man and a woman sat, musing over papers in front of them. The man was middle-aged, slightly balding, in a polo shirt. The woman was younger, perhaps thirty, with a chic bob and bright red lipstick. They looked up at him with tired but piercing eyes. Beside them was a video camera, posed to tape his audition.

“344,” the woman read. “What’s your name?”

“Huang Renjun.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

She drummed her fingers on the table. “Is this your first audition?”

“Yes.”

“What is your talent?”

“Dancing.”

“What songs will you be performing?”

“_Tic Toc, Jump,_ and _For You_ \--”

“All by Superstar?” she asked. “Are you a big Superstar fan?”

“Not really,” Renjun admitted.

“Hmm.” She glanced down at her papers, then back up. “Go ahead, then.”

A man in the back, operating the speaker, put on Renjun’s songs. While he danced, he had little awareness of how he might have looked, or even if he had done a good job or not. In a way, the whole audition seemed a little fuzzy at its edges, like he had dreamt it. Still, he did not trip up, and he did not misstep. That was all he knew, and he was thankful for it.

As the last song faded out, he took a moment to catch his breath. The man and woman waited, allowing him to compose himself, their faces unreadable. The man scribbled something in his notes.

The woman asked, “Could you sing for us?”

Renjun froze. “I’m not really a singer.”

“Just sing something. Anything.”

Taken aback, Renjun chewed his lip and wracked his brain. The only song he could remember the lyrics to was the very first one he and Sicheng had learned. He could never forget that one, not since the day Sicheng had handed him his album and pointed to it on the tracklist.

Renjun began to sing, quietly at first, then more fully. The Korean was awkward in his mouth at first after not having spoken it for so long, but it soon came back to him, trailing easy from his lips.

The woman squinted her eyes. Then, she marked something down on her papers, and said, “Thank you, Renjun. You can go now.”

He practically ran out the door.

\---

“How did it go?” Sicheng asked him. They met outside the building. By then, the sun was high in the sky, not low on the horizon as it had been when they last left it. Together, they waited at the bus stop.

“Okay,” Renjun answered. “I couldn’t really tell what they thought. How did _yours_ go?”

Sicheng turned his face towards the sky, soaking in the sunlight. “You know… I think I did good. I’ve never felt like that when I’ve left an audition, but this time… it feels right.”

Renjun studied the full heart of Sicheng’s lips, and the way they began to bend at their corners, a tentative smile.

“I think it’s because you were there,” Sicheng continued. “I kept thinking about you in the other room, and I was praying you were doing good, too. And when I was dancing, I told myself, ‘I gotta do perfectly this time, because I can’t let Renjun show me up.’”

“Hey.”

“I’m just kidding.” Sicheng ruffled Renjun’s hair. “What I was really thinking was, ‘I’m doing this for him. So we can dance together on stage.’”

Renjun leaned closer, allowing Sicheng the warmth of his shoulder. It wasn’t a kiss, but it meant something similar.

“By the way,” Renjun said. “Did they ask you to sing?”

“Huh?” Sicheng seemed surprised. “No. They just had me dance. Why? Did they ask _you_ to sing?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird. Well, not weird. It _is_ a band audition. Maybe they just thought you looked like you might be a good singer. Are you?”

“Not really.”

“Huh. I don’t know, then.” Sicheng nudged Renjun’s hand with his knuckle. “Don’t overthink it, Renjun. You did great. You _are_ great.”

If Sicheng had kissed him again, Renjun thought he might not have minded it.

\---

Though it was morning, the sky was dark, obscured by gray clouds. The snow began to pile up, just a light sprinkling at first, and then a sudden rush, dropping over the city streets like a thick quilt. Renjun watched it from the living room window. He wondered if it was snowing in Jilin, too. He wondered if his mother was watching it, just as he was.

The phone rang from the kitchen.

Renjun sat up straight. It could be her, he thought. He wanted it to be. But part of him knew it wouldn’t be. Next, he thought it might be Sicheng. The other boy had been busy over the rest of winter break with his family, so they hadn’t been able to see each other since the audition, but they called each other almost everyday. Renjun never had anything to say -- without Sicheng around, he did little besides lay at home and suffer his uncle’s tantrums. However, he liked just listening to Sicheng talk, even about silly stuff, like what he ate for lunch or what color his new sneakers were. Excited at the prospect of hearing his friend’s voice, Renjun leapt up and retrieved the phone from the kitchen counter.

It was not his mother, and it was not Sicheng.

“Hello,” said a woman’s voice. “Is this the residence of Huang Renjun?”

“This is him, actually.” Renjun fumbled with the phone, taken off guard. He tucked it hurriedly under his chin.

“Yes, this is Tan Liling. I auditioned you about a week ago for CZN Entertainment.”

The phone nearly slipped away from him. He leaned back against the counter, and cradled the headset in both hands.

“Yes. I remember.”

“I’m interested in meeting with you and your parents. Your audition tape was shown to our recruiting staff and they were impressed. We’d like to sit down and discuss a possible training contract.”

Renjun could not speak.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes,” Renjun managed.

“Do you need a moment?”

“No -- I just --” Renjun had never really thought he would get a callback. His uncle didn’t even know about the audition. He focused on forming the words, swallowing his shock. “When did you want to meet?”

“Does this Sunday work? Around two?”

“Yes -- yes, let me give you my address…” Voice shaking slightly, he recited it. On the other end, he could hear her tapping on her keyboard.

“Alright, Renjun. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

She hung up.

Renjun slid down and sat on the kitchen floor. The phone fell into his lap.

He had passed the audition.

He considered screaming. He also considered getting up and dancing. Finally, he decided to dial Sicheng’s number, his fingers still clumsy with excitement.

“Renjun?” Sicheng answered.

“Hey.”

“I was just thinking of calling you. So earlier today, me and my cousins went to --”

“Hold on,” Renjun interrupted. “I have something to tell you.”

“Huh? What is it?”

Renjun’s mouth was dry. He wet his lips, and said, “I got a call from CZN.”

The other end was silent for a long time.

“You what?” Sicheng said quietly.

“I got a call from CZN,” Renjun repeated. “They want to meet me. They said something about a contract.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No. It’s not a joke.”

Sicheng fell silent again.

“Have you heard anything?” Renjun asked. The excitement had melted away. He only felt anxiety, slipping in like a shadow beneath a door. “They called you, right?”

“No. They haven’t called me.”

“Well, I bet they’ve only just started. You’ll probably get a call by the end of the day.”

“Maybe.”

“You will. I know it.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sicheng said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Are you okay?” Renjun felt a jab of guilt. Why had he called Sicheng? What if Sicheng didn’t get in? What if he was just rubbing it in his face?

“Of course I’m okay,” Sicheng said. “Actually, I have to go now. Can I call you back later?”

Renjun’s heart plummeted.

“Alright,” he said.

Sicheng hung up without saying goodbye.

Renjun let the phone drop to the floor with a clatter.

He stood slowly, barely conscious of his own body. Outside the window, snow continued falling.

Sicheng did not call him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm alive!!!
> 
> the next chapter will probably be a little while, as i'm very busy with schoolwork now....but thank you to everyone putting up with my slowness! and thank you for reading~
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	3. Chapter 3

Tan Liling’s nails were painted black. Shiny black that caught the dim glow of the dining room light as they tapped against the scratched tabletop. Renjun looked down at his own nails. They were still chewed down from when he sat in line at his audition, because he hadn’t been able to stop chewing them since. Everytime he thought about CZN, or tried to call Sicheng and got no response, his fingers found his mouth. He’d chewed his nails so badly they sometimes began to bleed, picked raw.

He folded his hands in his lap, beneath the table, so Liling wouldn’t see them.

Beside her was a man, not the one from the audition, but one with the air of a lawyer: thick-rimmed glasses, gelled hair, perfectly straight tie. He passed her a packet of paper.

“This is our standard trainee contract,” she said. “We suggest you read it fully, as it’s legally binding. You’ll find sections discussing regulations, expectations, costs, and --”

“Costs,” Renjun’s uncle repeated. He was sitting at Renjun’s left, his arms crossed. “If this is gonna cost me, it won’t happen.”

Liling pursed her bright red lips in annoyance.

It had been hard enough convincing his uncle to have the meeting at all. Renjun had decided to drop the news during dinner one night, while his uncle was bent over his bowl, shoveling rice into his mouth.

“So,” Renjun had said, “I have something to tell you.”

His uncle had raised his eyes in a hard stare, the rings beneath them like dark blue bruises. “Is that so?”

“I auditioned for an entertainment company, and they want to sign me.”

The rice had dropped from between his uncle’s chopsticks.

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I said, I auditioned for a company. And they want to sign me on as a trainee.”

“Who the fuck wants _you_?” his uncle had barked. “And what for?”

“To be an idol,” Renjun had said. He’d tried to keep his voice firm and unafraid. This was a fight he would not back down from. “In Korea.”

“They must be blind,” his uncle had said, “or stupid. Or, you’re a liar.”

“I’m not. There’s a woman coming to meet us this Sunday at two o’clock.”

“A scam, then.”

Renjun had swallowed an angry retort. He’d known this wouldn’t go well. Would it have killed his uncle to show him a touch of kindness, just once? He’d imagined what his mother would have done if she’d been the one to hear the news -- wrap him in a hug, press kisses to the top of his head, murmur in his ear, “Of course they want you, Renjun. They know you’re a star, just like I’ve always known.”

“This is the only thing I’ll ever ask of you,” Renjun had finally said, desperate. “Please, just talk to her. I need my guardian to sign the contract…”

“And for what?” His uncle had slammed his fist on the table. “I do everything for you, and yet you ask for more. I’ve never met a more unthankful child in my life.”

Renjun had felt the frustrated tears pooling in his eyes. His uncle did not deserve his thankfulness. But he couldn’t say that, or else he’d risk everything. “I am thankful, really… in fact, if I’m able to become an idol, I was going to send you my profits, to pay you back for taking care of me…”

His uncle had raised a brow. _That_ had gotten his attention. “Really, Renjun? You really would?”

It was a lie. Renjun would not give his uncle a single penny. Besides, he knew that the only reason his uncle had taken him in in the first place had been because the government gave him a paycheck every month that was meant to go towards Renjun’s care. Yet that money had gone almost entirely towards bets and booze instead.

No. His uncle would not take a single one of his hard earned cents. But he did not need to know that.

“Of course I would,” Renjun had responded. “I promise.”

And now, two days later, his uncle took up his end of the bargain, and sat across the table from Tan Liling. However, there was no accounting for what his uncle might say; and when his uncle interrupted her, Renjun had to resist the urge to jump up and strangle him.

“The costs,” Liling said slowly, voice carrying a slight edge, “can be accounted for in our payment plan. CZN Entertainment does not require any upfront payment from its trainees. Rather, we offer a sort of loan. We pay for your training, housing, and even your food. In exchange, we take a cut from your eventual earnings, once you debut. You’ll be in debt to the company, but once its paid off, we ask nothing more from you financially.”

“So what you’re saying,” Renjun’s uncle said, “is that it comes from _his_ pockets, not mine.”

“Exactly. Unless, of course, he doesn’t debut or decides to leave the company.” She gave Renjun a hard, warning stare. “In that case, you would have to pay back any debts already incurred. There is also a contract termination fee. So if you aren’t fully dedicated, I suggest you back out now.”

Renjun thought of Sicheng. In his mind, Sicheng existed in two separate parts. One of them was the Sicheng who had visited him in the hospital, toting a card and a box of chocolates. The Sicheng who ruffled Renjun’s hair and told him he was meant to be an idol. This Sicheng had put so much faith in Renjun, given him so much love, that the thought of running away and giving up seemed an insult to his memory.

The other Sicheng had no face. He was the disembodied voice at the other end of the telephone. He spoke at Renjun’s shoulder, telling him that he did not deserve it. He screamed, _why is it that you get to be an idol, yet I don’t?_ He'd abandoned Renjun because he was petty and bitter and couldn’t accept that Renjun might be destined to greater things than himself. But this did not discourage Renjun. It only made him want it more, to prove there was a reason he had been chosen, while Sicheng had not. It was a silly sort of revenge, but Renjun could not resist it; the symptom of a broken heart.

“I’m dedicated,” Renjun said. “I won’t back out.”

Liling must have seen the fire in his eyes, because she slid the contract across the table. “Here it is, then. Like I said, you should probably read it through --”

Renjun uncapped his pen and signed his name.

Liling cast him a disapproving glance, then shrugged.

Renjun slid the contract to his uncle. His uncle gave the contract a suspicious once over, then placed his signature below Renjun’s.

“Alright, then.” Liling collected the contract and passed it back to the lawyer-looking man. He slipped it into the pocket of his briefcase. “We’ll be in contact again soon. CZN will make arrangements within the next week or so, and then we can coordinate a travel date, so you know which flight to buy your ticket for.”

“Hold on,” Renjun’s uncle said. “Buy his ticket?”

“CZN will not cover initial travel costs. We ask that trainees purchase tickets themselves.”

“You said there were no upfront charges!” Renjun’s uncle stood, his chair skidding loudly over the dining room floor.

Liling, impassive, put on her sunglasses. “No upfront charges _for training._ Travel costs are outside of our domain. Sorry. It was in the contract.”

She pulled her purse onto her shoulder and walked out. Her lawyer followed.

Renjun’s uncle turned his narrowed eyes onto his nephew.

\---

The final days moved slowly, a dragged out death.

His uncle bought him a ticket. It came after much ridicule, yelling, and two broken plates, swept from the kitchen counter as his uncle swore and staggered. And Renjun had had to sit through it, unable to talk back. He only chewed his nails in waiting. He knew, though, that his uncle would give in eventually, because a ticket to Korea costed less than the contract’s cancellation fee. It was a small victory.

He had not known, however, that this was not the end. Of course it was not.

Two days before his departure, Renjun asked his uncle about his mother.

“I wanted to know if you had her phone number,” he said, “so that I can get a hold of her in Korea.”

“Your mother never calls this apartment. How am I supposed to know her number?” His uncle sat in his armchair, in front of the TV. The screen reflected in his glasses, flashing colors obscuring his eyes.

Renjun did not believe this, but continued on. “Do you know the address, then? Of the hospital?”

“How should I know?” He lifted the remote and tapped aggressively on the channel button. “If your mother wanted you, she would let you know. Hell, if she wanted you, she wouldn’t have gotten all doped up and gotten herself in trouble.”

“I only want to talk to her,” Renjun said weakly.

“I don’t know what for. She hasn’t done jack shit for you. You’re better off without her.”

Renjun bit his tongue to keep from shouting, _I was better off with her than with you._

When his uncle left that night, he began his search again. Every corner of the apartment, ceiling to floor. Any scrap of paper, any nook or cranny. She was being kept a secret from him. He knew it from the snide smirk his uncle wore anytime she was mentioned. It was just one more way of torturing Renjun, and it was worse than the insults and rough hands. It was the severing of the only connection he had.

He lifted the couch cushions. Nothing but crumbs and dust. Renjun lowered himself to the floor, face nearly brushing the filthy carpet, trying to peer into the dark beneath the sofa. All he found was a gum wrapper.

He checked the kitchen again, and still found nothing. He even ducked his head inside the cupboards, trying to find graffiti or carvings in the wood, which of course did not exist.

After an hour, he was on the verge of screaming in frustration. He threw himself onto his uncle’s bed, slamming the heel of his palm against his forehead, forcing himself to think. He wouldn’t leave without her number. What if she _did_ call, after he left, and thought he had abandoned her? What if she could never get a hold of him again? He would rather die.

_It can’t be this difficult,_ he thought. _I’m overthinking it. Where would he hide something he’s written?_ His mind went back to the notepad in his bedside drawer. Maybe he’d missed something the last time he’d looked at it. He flipped onto his stomach, propped on his elbows, and tugged the drawer open. Inside was the notepad, the lighter, the deck of cards, just like the last time.

The deck of cards.

Renjun grabbed it, tore the box open, and let the cards rain down onto the bed. Hurriedly, he shuffled through them, heart beating wildly.

He turned over the queen of spades. In its margin, in the smallest handwriting he’d ever seen his uncle produce, was a phone number.

He let out a shaky breath, relief wracking his body like a crashing wave. Then, he picked up his mess, slid the drawer shut, and placed the queen of spades in the pocket of his suitcase, just beneath his plane ticket.

He would pay for it the next night.

\---

_Just one more day,_ Renjun kept telling himself. _Just one more. Then, you’ll never have to see him again._ That thought was the only thing that kept him going. Otherwise, he might have lost his mind.

Every word spat his way was a needle.

“That woman,” his uncle said, “must not have seen you smile at the audition. One look at your teeth, and you would have been rejected on the spot.”

Everytime Renjun stood in front of the mirror that day, he thought of it. He remembered the one time he had liked his smile -- it was when Sicheng had complimented him in the studio, and he’d seen it reflected back at him in the glass. Now, he only saw a snaggle tooth, prominent and crooked.

“You know,” his uncle said. “There’s no keeping secrets when you’re famous. Imagine if they find out your mother isn’t just psychotic, but a druggie, too.”

For the first time in his life, Renjun felt ashamed of his mother. He hadn’t considered what might happen if someone found out that he had been taken away from her. Maybe they would pity him, which was bad enough. Or maybe they would jeer at him, just like the kids back home sometimes did, calling his mother a whore and a nutcase and a pill popper.

“It’s an industry that will make or break you,” his uncle said. “It’s all luck, and sleeping with the right people. Though I’m sure you already knew that, right?”

Renjun had known it, though he’d never thought very deeply about it. The image Sicheng had painted for him of life as an idol was sparkling, dream fulfilling, buoyantly inspiring. It did not involve greed or sex or manipulation, though of course in reality it involved all of those things, but only behind closed doors, where it could be hidden away without acknowledgment. Renjun was suddenly shaken, trying to shelve his regret before it could manifest.

That night, at eight o’clock, Renjun sat in the living room. It occurred to him that this would be the last time he would have to exist in that space, surrounded by busted old furniture, cigarette-scented air, and water-stained ceilings. It was a surreal moment, and it might have been a happy one, too, if not for what happened next.

“Renjun,” said his uncle from the bedroom.

“What is it?”

“Come here.”

Renjun stood and walked over. He paused in the doorway, because his uncle held the deck of cards in his hands, brows bent low, eyes dark.

“You went through my things,” his uncle said.

Renjun stared at the floor.

“Where the hell did you put it?”

“You didn’t have any right to keep it from me,” Renjun said, voice trembling.

“Bullshit. I have every right.” His uncle flung the deck onto the bed. It fell off and onto the carpet with a dull thud. “Where. Is. It.”

Renjun did not look up.

It was the fastest Renjun had ever seen his uncle move. Before he knew it he was upon him, slamming his body back against the bedroom wall, hands tight at Renjun’s throat.

“You little son of a bitch --”

Renjun struggled against his uncle’s grip, spluttering for breath. Desperate, he scratched at his uncle’s wrist, hard enough to draw blood; and his uncle responded by striking him across the face, a slap that made Renjun’s head spin.

He fell to the ground, coughing and crying. Distantly, he was aware that his uncle was retrieving his suitcase. Renjun got halfway up, but his uncle had already torn open the zipper and pulled the card from the pocket. Then, he crossed back to his bedside table and retrieved his lighter.

“No,” Renjun tried to say, but his voice was raw and strained, nothing more than a useless gasp.

His uncle flicked the lighter on. He held the flame an inch away from the card’s corner. “You should have known better,” he said.

Renjun inched forward, twisting his fingers into his uncle’s pant leg. “Please,” he rasped. “Please. Let me have it.”

His uncle stared down at him with a cold, almost disgusted expression, like Renjun was a bug caught in a jar. He took his thumb off the flint and let the flame die.

“You don’t deserve it. But I’ll give it to you. I’ll be nice.” The card fell from his fingers. It hit Renjun’s head, then fell onto the floor in front of him. Renjun dove after it, hastily picked it up, and pressed the edge that bore his mother’s phone number to his lips.

His uncle walked away, back to where the open suitcase sat. He rolled it all the way to the front door, and tossed it out into the hallway. Its contents spilled across the floor.

“Now, you,” he said, pointing his finger at Renjun.

Renjun scrambled to his feet, his uncle helping him along with painful pushes. He fell out into the hall beside his bag, and the apartment door was slammed in his face.

Slowly, gingerly, he gathered his things and slipped the card back into its pocket. Then, he made his way down the stairs, suitcase beating against every step.

Outside, it was dark, the city lit up only by storefront windows and flickering streetlights. Renjun did not know exactly where he was going, only that he would not go back home, because it was not really a home at all, and he could still feel the sting of his uncle’s hand on his cheek.

Eventually, he stumbled upon a payphone booth. The glass was grime-coated, but Renjun did not mind, because it would help to hide his tear-streaked face from potential passersby.

He fumbled in his pocket for a coin, though his shaking caused it to slip through his fingers, clinking against the metal floor of the box. Ungloved hands freezing, he searched around for it, finding its silver glint among the rust and dirt. Carefully, he fed it into the machine.

He did not know who he was calling. He considered trying to dial his mother’s number, but he didn’t want her to hear him crying and be worried for him -- he would wait and call her once he reached Korea. In the meantime, he had thirteen hours before his flight, and nowhere to go.

He swallowed. Then, he dialed Sicheng’s number.

The phone rang. It rang again. It rang five times. No one picked up. Sicheng’s voicemail message played through -- the only way Renjun had been able to hear his voice in over a week.

“This is Sicheng! Guess I missed your call… leave a message! Buh-bye!”

Renjun had lost count of how many messages he had left. He was sick of them.

He produced another coin, and dialed Sicheng again.

Still, he did not answer.

“This is Sicheng! Guess I missed your call --”

Frustrated tears replaced wounded ones. Renjun regretted ever placing his trust in Sicheng, because if they had really been friends, he wouldn’t be leaving him alone when he needed him the most. If they had really been friends, Sicheng wouldn’t have been so petty as to cut ties the moment Renjun became successful. What had that kiss meant? Had it meant nothing to Sicheng? Did he kiss everyone without meaning it, only wanting attention, as if he didn’t already have enough of it? Did Sicheng ever realize how lucky he was, how fucking blessed, to have what he had? Renjun’s heart beat riotously against his ribs.

He slammed the phone back onto the hook switch. Unsatisfied, he yanked it off again, so hard the cord tore from the booth. When he tossed the receiver at the glass, it did not shatter, but made a resounding clatter as the pane vibrated.

Renjun ran a hand over his face. Finally, he took the handle of his suitcase and continued down the sidewalk. He would have to find another booth.

\---

Renjun slept on a bench at the airport.

He’d had to call a cab, sacrificing the wad of bills in his pocket that had been meant for buying a meal before his plane took off. It had been ten o’clock when he got there, still half a day too early. He was nearly blinded by the bright, sterile lights of the airport, which shone as if the dark outside did not exist. They made it difficult to find sleep, but Renjun was exhausted enough that it did not matter.

“Kid,” said a voice above him. A hand shook his shoulder.

An airport custodian stood above him. By now, early morning light was pouring through the windows. “Do you have a flight coming up?” the custodian asked.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t want you to miss it or something.”

“Thank you.”

The custodian lingered. His wide eyes were on Renjun’s neck. Quickly, Renjun gathered his things and made his way to the bathroom.

Looking into the mirror, he found his throat bruised -- long, dark marks that were clearly pressed into his skin by fingers. Gently, he touched one, and recoiled at the pain. As if that wasn’t enough, his eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his hair wild and clearly unwashed.

Not wanting anymore stares, Renjun dug in his suitcase for his scarf and wrapped it up to his chin.

Getting onto his flight, Renjun knew he should have been happy, happier than the last time he boarded one. However, he only felt a lingering dread which wrapped itself around his stomach and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed.

\---

This time, he did not have to search for his pick-up. The agent from CZN stood just outside the gate, holding a large sign with his name on it, just as Tan Liling had promised. When Renjun met him, the man took his suitcase without asking, gave him a courteous nod, and led him to the car.

“So? What do you think?” the man asked him, once they’d made it onto the road.

“About what?”

“Seoul. It’s a pretty city, isn’t it?”

Renjun peered out the window. It was nicer than Wenzhou, but then again, the Wenzhou he knew was only broken glass and cracked asphalt. He was sure there were ugly parts of Seoul as well, and wondered if he would ever see them.

“It’s pretty,” Renjun agreed.

“Your Korean is good,” the man said.

“Thanks.”

“Have you been studying for a long time? Some of our international trainees don’t bother to take lessons. It really shows.”

Renjun gave a huff of a laugh. He hadn’t taken Korean classes to become a k-pop star. He wondered what the man would say if he told him he’d only been training to be an idol for two months. However, he answered, “Yeah, since I was little. I’ve always been interested.”

“Wow. Now that’s dedication.”

Renjun resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“So,” the man said. “First, we’ll drop your stuff off at the dorms. You’ll have an hour or so to settle in. Then, at four, you’ll be meeting a company manager to discuss your training schedule.”

“Okay.”

“Are you okay?” the man asked. “You look sick.”

“I’m alright.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” Renjun lied.

The dorms were a blocky, white-walled building that looked inconspicuous among the others surrounding it. However, the parking lot was blocked off by a gate, which had to be unlocked with a punch code, and just inside was uniformed man with dark glasses, a guard of some kind. Renjun’s driver gave the guard a nod, and passed through to his parking spot.

“Should be quiet,” the man said, searching in his pockets for Renjun’s room key. “I think all the other trainees are in the studio right now.”

“Are there a lot of them?” Renjun asked.

“Twenty-nine boys total. Only six of them live in the dorms, though.”

“Oh.” Renjun hadn’t considered that so many of them would still live at home. It made sense, since most of them were probably locals.

“But it’s lucky for you. Since you’re seventh, you get your own room. Odd numbers and all that.” The key clicked and he pushed the door open.

The dorm was pretty close to how Renjun had imagined: plain, small, but clean. The bed was pushed to one wall, and at the other wall was a desk and chair. Beside the desk was a shallow closet.

“There’s a bathroom and a kitchen down the hall,” the man said. “Here are your keys.” He pushed them into Renjun’s hands, little silver keys that glimmered under the ceiling light. Renjun had never held keys of his own before. Somehow, he felt they were more valuable than he himself.

“You take your time settling in,” the man said. “I’m gonna go have a smoke.”

“Alright.”

The man shut the door behind him.

Renjun walked across the room and looked out the window. It opened onto the building’s back lot, not much of a view aside from the slab of concrete and a few stray cars. Renjun still found it more appealing than the tangle of telephone wires he used to see from his window in Wenzhou.

He flopped down onto the bed. His bed. It didn’t quite seem real yet. He was not used to sleeping on a mattress above a bed frame; back home, he could roll off his mattress and right onto the floor. The sheets here were soft, bone white, and smelled like laundry detergent. The freshness of them reminded him of how filthy he must have been. He stood, rummaged in his bag for a fresh change of clothes, and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Signs of life were scattered about. Toothbrushes in a cup on the sink, razors and bandaids in the cabinet, a stray sock left on the tile floor. Seven boys, and one bathroom. Renjun predicted a chaotic morning rush.

The water was hot, almost scalding. He did not turn it down, because he liked the feel of it. No more five minute showers with his uncle rapping on the door the whole time, telling him not to run up their water bill. No more cracked mirrors. No more cigarette smoke clinging to him, no matter how hard he tried to scrub it away.

He lingered in the shower. The steam cleared his lungs, renewed him.

\---

Renjun stared down at the cellphone in his hands. He’d never had his own. He’d always felt strange when, during homeroom, the other kids would all have their phones out, tapping away, probably chatting with their friends or texting their parents their after school plans. It wasn’t quite jealousy, but a nagging feeling that he was somehow separate from the rest, isolated, empty-handed.

The woman who sat across from him, her chair swiveled away from her desk to face him, was nothing like Tan Liling. She was forty-something, round-faced, hair mousy brown and gathered over the shoulders of her white button-up. She was how Renjun envisioned an ordinary office lady. Pinned above her desk was a photo of a young girl wearing a _Little Mermaid_ backpack and smiling. Renjun wondered, if that young girl wanted to become an idol, if her mother would allow her, knowing the industry so intimately.

“This is a company-issued phone. It’s important to be able to keep in touch with our staff during the day, so make sure to keep it on you at all times.” She stuck her pen behind her ear and shuffled through the heap of papers on her desk. “You have your room key, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. I think the next thing is --” She found the form she was looking for and slid it from the stack. “School. It’s important to keep up with schooling as a trainee, that way we can have some more flexible options if you debut.”

School.

Renjun had somehow thought he would not have to go back.

“For foreign trainees, there are some international schools in Seoul that can accomodate language barriers --”

“My Korean is fine.”

“Yes, yes it is --” She tried to fill the awkward silence by flipping the paper from front to back, front to back, as if she was searching for a certain section. “Well, we can also enroll you in a local high school. There are some schools that are a bit more lenient in terms of accomodating a trainee’s busy schedule, so…”

“I don’t care what school I go to.”

She gave a dimpled, forced smile and set the form back on her desk. “Okay. Then I’ll begin some paperwork to have you enrolled.” Finally, she handed him a folded sheet. “This is your training schedule. You’ll start tomorrow. It’ll be nice to meet all your fellow trainees and start to make friends, huh?”

“I guess so.”

She laughed like he had made a joke. Renjun shoved his schedule and his new phone in his pocket, and left.

When he arrived back at the dorm, it was evening. The winter sun had been flushed away, and the window at the end of the hall opened into gaping darkness. Renjun pressed his key into the lock on his door.

“Hey.”

Three doors down the hall was another boy. He stood half in his room, half out, hands shoved in his jean pockets. “Are you the new trainee?”

Renjun shrunk back, closer to his door, which was still shut. He couldn’t get the key to turn. “Yeah.”

“Oh, cool. My name’s Mark. What’s yours?”

“Renjun.”

“Lonjin?”

“Renjun.”

“Is that Korean?”

“Chinese.”

“Oh. I thought you sounded Korean.” Mark shrugged and leaned back against his doorframe. “Well, if you have any questions about stuff, you can always ask me. I’ve been here for two years now, so I know just about everything about this place.”

“Okay.”

“Actually, me and my roommate were gonna go grab dinner at a place down the street. Wanna come?”

Renjun fidgeted with the key, trying to force it further into the hole. “I -- I’m actually kind of tired, from flying in, so…”

“Okay. Maybe another time.”

“Yeah.”

Mark went back into his room.

Renjun bumped his hip hard against his door. Finally, it opened, and he fell through.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pulled out his phone. 5:45, the screen read. Silently, he cursed himself for having rejected Mark’s offer, because he was hungry from not having eaten all day but had no food in his room. _Maybe I should go knock on his door,_ he thought. But he did not. It would be too awkward. He wasn’t in the mood to make friends, anyway. He would just have to wait and go to the store tomorrow.

His suitcase still sat on the floor in front of his bed, partially unpacked. He bent forward and pulled the card with his mother’s number from the inner pocket. Then, he dialed it.

It rang twice before a woman answered. “Fengman Psychiatric Hospital.”

Renjun stiffened, his free hand gripping his knee. “Hello -- I’m trying to get in contact with my mother…”

“Your mother? Do you have her extension?”

“Uh…” Renjun flipped the card over, searching. “I… I don’t…” Bitterly, his thumb pressed into the queen of spades’s face, denting it. Of course his uncle wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave that information when Renjun could find it. He suspected the extension number was only recorded inside his uncle’s brain. That’s why he had given the card back to him. All an elaborate set-up to give him false hope.

“I’m sorry, but without the extension number, I can’t really help you. We aren’t at liberty to hand out patient information, especially over the phone. If you came to the hospital in person, we may be able to help.”

“I can’t do that…” Renjun dropped the card. It drifted down onto the floor. Running his hand over his face, he said, “If I gave you her name --”

“I’m sorry, it’s really outside of my control. That goes against our protocol.”

“If I can’t talk to her, can you at least tell me if she’s still there? Or if she’s been released?”

“I can’t.”

“Okay…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Goodbye.”

Renjun hung up. He considered throwing his phone at the wall, the way he had the night before in the booth, but didn’t want to ruin company property -- he would be well in debt enough without breaking his things. About to cry, he lay back on his bed, not finding relief in its softness.

The phone was still in his hand. His fingers twitched against the screen.

He bit his lip. Then, he dialed Sicheng.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hello?”

Renjun nearly jumped out of bed.

“Hello?” Sicheng repeated.

Renjun couldn’t find his voice. He had to remind himself to keep breathing.

“Is someone there?”

Renjun swallowed a sob.

He hung up, knowing he would never find the right words.

Tossing his cellphone down onto his comforter, he pressed both his fists into his eyes, trying to push down tears, but it did no good.

In the dark, he let his mind drift. He wondered if things might have turned out differently if he had been more open. Sicheng had told him all his secrets, all the things closest to his heart, shared his dream with Renjun. Had Renjun offered anything in return? If Renjun had gotten up the nerve to tell Sicheng about home, about his uncle, about his mother, maybe Sicheng wouldn’t have let him go. If Renjun had been more honest, more trusting, maybe hurt feelings wouldn’t have been enough to break them.

He wondered if he would ever stop feeling guilty. _Probably not,_ he thought, but that was the way it should be. This was his punishment, for taking without giving.

Renjun fell asleep, hunger still gnawing at him.

\---

“You’re stepping too quickly,” the instructor said. “You’re on beat two, you need to be on beat three.”

Renjun wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Behind him, there were about fifteen other boys. They all stood in front of the training room mirrors, sleeves rolled up, hands on their hips. They didn’t say anything, but Renjun could sense their annoyance. This was the third time that night that the instructor had pulled Renjun aside specifically, correcting the same step over and over. He knew he was new at this, that it would take time for him to get used to the way things worked. But it didn’t stop his face from reddening in shame every time he was singled out.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” the instructor said. He could tell Renjun was dodging his gaze -- he bent slightly and forced him to meet his eye. “Come on. Get back into it. It’s not that hard.”

Renjun felt a biting word rise on his lips. He forced it back down.

They’d been at practice since four that afternoon. They’d stopped briefly to eat dinner (which, for Renjun, was a packet of bland-tasting cookies from a vending machine), then reconvened after. By now, it was ten, and the weariness was visible in every boy’s dragging feet and half-lidded eyes.

The practice continued.

At one point, Renjun stumbled into the boy beside him. The boy shot him a dirty look and stepped further away. Clearly, most of them had little sympathy for a newbie in their numbers, though Renjun couldn’t exactly blame them. He had never even spoken to any of them before (aside from Mark, who stood in the back, watching Renjun with a pitying expression). All that morning Renjun had avoided leaving his dorm room for fear of bumping into another trainee. He had even tried to go to the bathroom as little as possible. The other boys made him nervous, and that nervousness made him vulnerable. He would not permit any vulnerability. If he did, he thought he might not survive.

Eventually they moved onto a different section of the choreography. It was a song Renjun didn’t know, by some solo artist he’d never heard of, though at the very least he was thankful that it wasn’t a group routine. The instructor called for everyone’s attention while he demonstrated the next move. It involved dropping to the floor, quickly coming back up, and then spinning into the next step.

Renjun had never done choreography like it in his life.

The other boys seemed to pick it up within seconds. Nervously, Renjun glanced around at them, trying to figure out how they did it, where they placed their feet and when. Perhaps it was due to exhaustion, but Renjun could only see a blur of limbs as they moved.

“Renjun,” the instructor snapped. “Let’s see it.”

Renjun shifted where he stood, trying to find the correct position.

“Your left foot is too far forward. You’ll fall on your face.”

“Oh…” Renjun readjusted, shook out his hands, and tried to drop to the floor in the easy way of the other trainees.

He slipped and, as forecasted, fell on his face.

In the background, he heard a few of the other boys laugh. Stomach twisting in agonized embarrassment, Renjun sat up, hands sore from trying to catch himself.

The instructor stared cooly down at him. Then he turned to the whole room and announced, “I was going to let you guys go. But it looks like we’ll be here a bit longer.” His eyes flickered back down to Renjun’s face. “Until everyone has it perfect.”

The laughs turned into groans.

“Clearly, _he’s_ the only one messing it up,” one boy complained. “Why do all of us have to stay?”

“Leave,” the instructor said. “By all means. But you may regret it.”

Silence fell. It was clear no one would be going home until dismissed.

They were let out for a ten minute break. Most of the boys crowded the hallway just outside the practice room, gathered in little cliques, whispering in each other’s ears. When Renjun walked out after them, he felt every eye on him, every soft-spoken jeer being sent in his direction. Even Mark, who Renjun had thought was friendly, watched him with a subtle, disappointed shake of his head.

Renjun escaped to the stairwell, which lay behind a heavy door. Thankfully, it was empty. He climbed up a few steps and sat, the buzzing of the ceiling light above his head as his only company.

He allowed himself to cry, elbows propped on knees, face pressed into his forearms.

If this is what it would be like, he didn’t know how he would make it. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be an idol. All the trainees had to have thick skin, and he’d thought he had, too -- so why did it hurt so much to know he was failing? Why did he care so much about something he hadn’t even wanted until just a couple of months ago?

The door opened at the bottom of the stairs. Renjun raised his head to see one of the other trainees, a boy with a mole beneath his eye and thin, prettily bowed lips.

Renjun hid his face again. The boy sat down beside him and pressed a water bottle to Renjun’s arm.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked.

Renjun didn’t respond.

The boy paused, contemplative. “You know, that happens to everyone. The first week is tough. It gets better, though.” Absentmindedly, he pressed his fingers into the water bottle, the thin plastic creaking. “Not everyone is a dancer. That’s okay.”

_I’m_ supposed _to be a dancer,_ Renjun wanted to say. Instead, he let out a pitiful sob.

The other boy slung his arm around Renjun’s shoulder and gave him a gentle pat. His arm stayed there for a while.

Time ran out. The boy stood and began to make his way back down the stairs. “Are you coming?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

The boy left.

Renjun wiped his tears away, gathered his courage, and followed.

\---

They were let out at 1 AM. Renjun had continued to fumble for almost two hours after their break. He could feel the other boys’ annoyance like daggers, but he had brushed it away, promising himself he would not break for anyone.

He still felt the ghost of an arm around his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	4. Chapter 4

“You know, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you last night,” Mark said. His head was ducked down as he reached into the cabinet, retrieving a box of cereal. “I was just tired. I know the instructor seems harsh, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Sure,” Renjun responded flatly. They had all been tired last night. He knew that the actual reason Mark didn’t say anything, was because _no one_ said anything. 

Renjun sensed that Mark was not one to go against the grain.

“Really,” Mark said. “I’ve been here for two years and seen plenty of new guys come in. It’s just a matter of adjusting.”

“Sure,” Renjun repeated. He poked at his eggs in the pan.

“Did you ever get the move down?”

Renjun grimaced. The instructor had said they would all be let out once everyone was perfect, yet Renjun was certainly far from. In the end, even that strict man had had a little pity in his heart, because he had dismissed them once they all had seemed too tired to go on.

“Just about,” Renjun lied.

“Well, that’s good. When we meet again tomorrow, you can rub it in his face.” Mark reached into the box and ate the dry cereal right out of his hand.

Renjun groaned, and tried to hide it in a yawn.

“What are you doing today?” Mark asked.

“I have voice training at four.”

“Nice. Are you any good?”

“No.”

“Really? I thought you were probably a singer.”

Renjun raised a brow. “Why’s that? Because my dancing sucked?”

Mark’s face went red. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s fine, Mark.” Renjun scraped his eggs onto a plate, not looking up. “Go on. Say what you mean, for once.”

Mark chewed very slowly on his cereal, taken aback, trying to figure Renjun out.

Renjun took his plate and went back to his room to eat alone.

\---

He arrived at the studio five hours early.

At that time of day, it was fairly empty, since most of the trainees were at school. Renjun, meanwhile, was still waiting on his enrollment, which meant he had his choice of empty practice rooms. He found a small one, secluded at the end of the basement hallway, and slipped inside.

On his phone, he pulled up the song they had been practicing the previous night. He would master it, no matter what. Clicking the volume up to fill the room, he took a deep breath in front of the mirror, and began to dance.

What was it that had made dancing with Sicheng seem so easy? Was it Sicheng’s encouragement? Was it the fact that, as Renjun now knew, he was the one with more skill, and dancing side by side with Sicheng had made him look even better? It was a spiteful, awful thing to think, and he knew it. But he let that spite fuel him.

The one move in particular was still a struggle. Dropping to the ground like that did not come naturally to him -- he was afraid of falling. What was it the instructor had said? Foot further forward, or foot back?

He looked up. In the mirror, he saw the boy from last night, the one who had placed his arm around his shoulder. He stood at the back of the room, half inside the door, watching Renjun with a mild expression.

“How long have you been standing there?” Renjun asked.

“A few minutes.”

“Why aren’t you at school?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

Renjun had felt the very same way most his life, so he didn’t question it. “What’s your name?”

“Lee Jeno.” He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. “You’re Renjun, right?’

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t gotten it yet,” Jeno observed.

“No.”

“Do you want help?”

Renjun hesitated before answering. He didn’t want to seem incompetent, or weak, or like he didn’t belong at the company. He didn’t want to give the other boys a reason to laugh at him. But he didn’t want to fail, either.

“Okay,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

“I haven’t got anything better to do.” Jeno walked over, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. “Still the same part tripping you up?”

“Yeah.”

“Here. Get into position.” Jeno studied the way Renjun’s body settled into lines, looking for any that were crooked. He placed his hands on Renjun’s hips and shifted them forward. “Place your weight lower. It’ll put less strain on your hands when you catch yourself.” Then he nudged Renjun’s front foot with his own. “Like this.”

“Okay.”

“Have you ever danced before?”

“Ballet.”

“Oh. I see. Bet you don’t do this kind of thing in ballet.”

“No,” Renjun responded. “No falling on purpose.”

Jeno smiled.

Renjun tried not to let it soften him.

After an hour, he’d improved a lot. Jeno demonstrated the dance a few times, and Renjun found himself in awe of how he moved, at once smooth and rough, all grace and all power. He seemed to know every part of his body, a certain head-to-toe awareness that made every flick of his fingers, every stray step, seem purposeful. It made Renjun feel insignificant. It also made his heart move with a driving beat, willing him to improve.

“Do you want to practice again later?” Jeno asked, pulling on his coat.

“I have training until this evening.”

“That’s fine. We can meet at seven or something.”

Renjun, a little ashamed, said, “If that’s okay. I don’t want to waste your time.”

“It’s practice for me, too. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.”

“By the way,” Jeno said, eyes flitting down from Renjun’s face. “What happened to your neck?”

“Oh -- I --” Self-consciously, Renjun’s hand flew to the bruises. They’d begun to yellow by now, but were still darkly visible against his skin. He’d been smart enough to wear a high-necked shirt to practice last night, but he’d forgotten about it that morning. “It’s not a big deal.”

He waited for Jeno to say something pitying, words dripping with concern, like he thought Renjun was a little, broken-legged puppy. Instead, he shrugged and said, “You ought to buy some make up. Cover it up.”

“Okay.”

Jeno left.

Practical advice. Renjun hadn’t expected it, but found he appreciated it.

\---

Vocal training was nothing like dance. For one thing, Renjun had no experience, which he wasn’t sure was better or worse; at least he couldn’t let himself down. Second, there were not fifteen boys in the room, or even five. It was only him, the vocal coach, and one other trainee.

The trainee cast him a sidelong glance as he entered the room. He looked to be around Renjun’s age, with tan skin, downturned eyes, and lips held in a permanent pout. While the vocal coach stood on the other side of the glass, adjusting the microphone setup, the trainee asked Renjun, “How old are you?”

_Not exactly your average greeting,_ Renjun thought. “I’m fifteen.”

“Really? You’re small. I thought you were, like, twelve.”

“Thanks,” Renjun responded dryly.

“You’re the kid who couldn’t get the move right last night. I had to call my parents and have them pick me up past midnight because of you. They’d been asleep and everything.”

Renjun had the sudden urge to sock this kid right in the face.

“We’re all set.” The coach opened the recording room door and walked into the studio, holding a folder in her hands. She turned to Renjun. “I thought for today we would start simple. I asked Donghyuck to come since he’s one of my star students, and he’s a good example for our warmups.” 

Donghyuck stood a little straighter and gave a charming, innocent smile, eyelashes fluttering. “Thank you, _seonsaengnim._”

_He’s a snake,_ Renjun concluded.

“Have you ever taken voice lessons, Renjun?” the coach asked.

“No.”

Beside him, Donghyuck cocked a brow. Renjun ignored it.

“Well, we’ll start with some easy stuff then. We usually do some exercises to build technique; the basics are the most important thing.” She walked across the room and hit a key on the keyboard. “We’ll start here. Donghyuck, can you do a scale?”

Donghyuck did as he was told. Renjun had to admit, he had a good voice -- high, distinct, but with a pretty lilt and a clear tone. Donghyuck seemed to enjoy Renjun watching him, basking in the opportunity to show off.

“Alright, Renjun, let’s try it,” the coach said.

It was an agonizing experience.

Renjun did not like singing in front of other people. Perhaps at the audition he’d been so beyond nervous that he’d been numb to the embarrassment. Now, with two onlookers studying him, he struggled to appear confident, and in trying to regain that confidence, he lost focus on his singing. Everytime he felt his voice waver, he winced.

The voice coach was certainly kinder than the dance instructor, but she didn’t hesitate to correct him. “You need to keep good posture, sing from your diaphragm -- your mouth isn’t open enough, really let the sound resonate -- don’t strain for it, if it doesn’t feel natural, it means your technique is wrong.”

Donghyuck leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking perfectly pleased at Renjun’s struggling.

Halfway through the lesson, the coach brought Renjun into the recording room behind the glass. “Every so often,” she said, “we like to record your voice. That way, you can listen to it played back to you and see how you really sound.”

Renjun did not want to know how he really sounded.

Still, he approached the microphone. The coach returned to the other side of the door and pressed a button on the mixing table. “Alright, Renjun. Whenever you’re ready.”

He looked at the lyrics sheet in his hands and, voice with a tentative, soft start, began to sing.

When he finished, the coach invited him out of the recording room to listen. He sat in the rolling chair beside her. Without realizing it, he began chewing his nails.

His voice played. He was surprised to find it wasn’t as bad as he thought. At the very least, he was carrying the tune. He stopped chewing, rubbing at the rough edge of his nail with his thumb.

“Hmm.” The coach leaned in slightly, eyes squinting in thought. “Interesting. I think you have a lot of potential, Renjun.”

He nearly fell out of his chair. “I do?”

“Yes. Obviously you need a lot of work. But potential is the most important thing. We can shape potential.”

Potential. Was that what they had seen in him at the audition, rather than skill? How did one even recognize potential, if the entire point was that it hadn’t come to the surface yet?

He turned slightly in his seat. Donghyuck still stood against the wall, the smile having slipped from his face.

\---

After, Renjun stopped at the vending machines, then reclaimed his practice room and waited for Jeno to arrive. Sitting on the floor, he ate his crackers and stared into the mirror. Idly, he thought that he probably needed a haircut and some new clothes, and it occurred to him that he now had a monthly allowance stored in a bank account under his name, given to him by CZN. He’d never really had any money of his own before. For a moment, it made him feel he had the tiniest pinch of power.

“Don’t tell me that’s your dinner,” Jeno said, coming into the studio and peeling off his scarf.

Renjun responded by popping another cracker into his mouth.

“You ought to eat real food. By the way --” He tossed his coat onto the floor. “I actually have to leave around eight, so I can’t stay long. A hyung offered to take some of us to dinner and then to the Han River.”

Renjun looked away.

“Actually, you could probably come with us if you wanted. It would be fun.”

Renjun shook his head. “I’m gonna keep practicing, so…”

Jeno shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now, let’s get back to work.”

Renjun could now complete the routine in full, thought there was little confidence in his movements. And this was only in front of Jeno -- he could only imagine doing it again in front of the whole class.

As if he could read his mind, Jeno stopped him and said, “You look mortified.”

“I am,” Renjun admitted.

“Well, just imagine you’re performing in front of an audience. Imagine you’ve debuted and people are screaming your name. That’s what I always do.”

“Really? That works?”

“Yeah. I don’t really care about what the other trainees or the teacher think.” Jeno placed his hands on his hips, a gesture of pure self-assuredness. “That won’t matter in the long run.”

Renjun remembered what it felt like to perform at his ballet recitals. Parents standing with video cameras, clapping and cheering whenever another dancer took centerstage. The feeling of being truly seen.

He tried to picture it. It felt so impossibly distant. But he knew he was closer to it than most people would ever be.

The next time he danced, Jeno watched him with a straight face, but Renjun could see the glint of approval in his eyes.

\---

He stayed in the studio until 2 AM, long after Jeno left. Even after he felt he had perfected it. Even after his muscles screamed for him to stop.

He dragged himself back to the dorms, barely having the strength to push open his room door. When he got inside, he fell down onto his bed, feeling the briefest rush of both exhaustion and satisfaction. It did not last.

From down the hall, he heard music, blasted loud on a speaker.

Renjun tried to cover his ears with his comforter. The music persisted.

Ordinarily, he would not make a big deal of it. He would suck it up and will himself to sleep despite the noise. But now, bones still buzzing from practice and brain spinning, he could not let it go. He got up, marched down the hallway, and slammed his fist three times on Mark’s door.

“Hey,” Mark said, as if there was nothing the matter.

“Do you mind?”

“Sorry, we were just goofing around.” He stepped slightly aside. Beyond the doorway, Donghyuck was sitting on the floor, shoveling corn chips into his mouth and scrolling through his phone to add another song to the queue. When he saw Renjun, he put on a shit-eating smile and waved.

“It’s two-thirty in the morning,” Renjun said. “I can hear it from down the hall.”

“Sorry, man. We’ll turn it down.”

Renjun continued to hover at the door. Somehow, part of him had wanted more conflict. He’d really wanted an opportunity to give them a piece of his mind. So much dancing had made him drunk, looking for another opportunity to burn his pent-up frustration.

Mark stepped further aside. “Want to come in?”

Renjun’s mouth twisted into a bitter pout, but he came in anyway.

Mark had a small TV in his room. The screen was paused in the middle of some shooting game, the controllers lying in the middle of the floor near Donghyuck’s crossed legs. Bags of snacks littered the floor.

“Does this mean we can keep the music on?” Donghyuck asked.

Renjun shot him a nasty look.

Donghyuck turned the volume down a smidge.

Mark shut the door and took up his spot beside Donghyuck, picking up his controller. “Do you play games, Renjun?”

“No.”

“Oh. Do you want some food?”

Renjun sat down and took a handful of chocolate candies. He jabbed a finger in Donghyuck’s direction. “Is this your roommate?”

“No,” Mark said. “Donghyuck lives at home. He’s just here to hang out.”

_Good,_ Renjun thought. He put a candy in his mouth and chewed it suspiciously. “They don’t have this brand in China,” he said.

“They don’t have it in Canada, either.” Mark clicked his game back on.

“You’re Chinese?” Donghyuck asked.

Renjun continued chewing.

“You know, your singing today wasn’t totally horrible. At least it was better than your dancing.”

Renjun paused, jaw held mid-motion, tight with anger.

“Shut up, Donghyuck,” Mark said, but like it was a joke, only half-committed.

“I’m going back to bed,” Renjun said.

“Hey, hold on.” Mark snatched the phone from Donghyuck’s hands and shut the music off. “He’s only kidding around. That’s just how he is. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Donghyuck pursed his lips as if he might say something to the contrary, but did not.

“You know,” Mark said. “It was getting kind of weird being the only foreign trainee around here. I’m glad you showed up.”

Renjun could tell he was just trying to make him feel better, but still, he allowed his curiosity to lead him on. “The only one?”

“There was another Chinese kid here about a year ago, but I guess he left.” Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe there are some foreign female trainees, but I don’t really know.”

“Female trainees?” Renjun had known they existed of course, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen one around.

“Yeah. You sometimes run into them at the company building, but CZN tries to keep the guys and girls separate. For obvious reasons. Their dorm is in a different building.”

“If you really wanted to know more,” Donghyuck said, “you should ask Lee Jeno.”

Renjun looked up quickly. “Jeno? Why?”

“You know him?” Donghyuck shoved another corn chip into his mouth and spoke through his crunching. “He has it in with all the girls. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” Renjun stared down at the floor.

“Yeah. I talked to this trainee once, and she said they all knew him. I don’t know how he does it. Lucky bastard.”

Mark tapped his finger aggressively on a button, shooting at an enemy soldier. “Must have got close with one of them, then met all her friends. He ought to watch out, though. If a manager finds out, they’ll skin him alive.”

“I’m actually gonna go to bed,” Renjun said.

Mark shrugged. “Alright. See you around, I guess. We’ll keep the music off.”

Renjun walked outside into the hall. He stood for a moment, still close at the closed door, and listened.

“His Korean is better than yours,” Donghyuck said.

There was a thump that Renjun guessed was Mark tossing a pillow at Donghyuck’s head.

Even in the new quiet, Renjun found it hard to fall asleep. He wasn’t sure why what he’d heard about Jeno bothered him, but it did. Maybe he’d just thought Jeno wasn’t like that. Not that it was a bad thing, he reminded himself. Or maybe, he was just confused by the thought of another boy his age hanging out with girls. Having relationships.

Having sex.

Renjun tried not to think about Jeno having sex.

His alarm clock shone 3:09 in dull red.

He shut his eyes.

\---

At practice the next day, he felt a strange fearlessness.

For one thing, it couldn’t possibly go any worse than the first session did. Second, he’d sunk so many hours into his dancing that there was no way he could second guess himself. He could’ve done the dance in his sleep. In fact, he’d been dreaming about it during the night, and woke up in the morning with the song still ringing in his ears.

The dance instructor entered the studio, looking just as stoic and cool as he had the last time. Shaved head, hard eyes, wearing black from head to toe. He crossed his arms and observed the trainees from the front of the room.

“Where should we start today?” he asked, strolling up and down the front row like a prowling cat. It was a pointless act -- Renjun knew exactly where he would stop. The instructor pointed a finger in his direction. “How about here? Renjun?”

A boy behind him snickered.

Renjun set his mouth in a straight line as the music started.

As he danced, he wondered what everyone else saw. A boy who was in over his head? A boy undeserving of standing in that room? Or a boy who’d worked his bones weary until he moved as he should, every turn and twist an exact, calculated effort.

He was not afraid of falling. He caught himself, and found that his body felt completely weightless.

The other boys were silent.

Breathing heavy, but not feeling at all worn out, he settled back on his feet and looked the instructor in the eye.

The instructor's mouth was slightly open. Finally, he gave the slightest of nods, and said, "Alright then. Next."

He moved to approach the next boy.

"Say it," Renjun said.

The instructor froze, then whipped back around. "What?"

"Say I did it right. Say I did a good job." Renjun raised his chin, jaw set, eyes narrowed.

The instructor, taken completely off guard, studied Renjun, eyebrows furrowed. Had any boy ever talked back to him like that, demanding his praise? Ordinarily, Renjun would have been frightened at his own audacity. But now, he only stood, completely calm, waiting for the approval he deserved.

"Good job, Renjun," the instructor said, voice low, almost a warning.

Renjun liked the way it felt.

When they next took a break, no boy approached him. But it was not like the last time, with their jeers echoing off the hallway walls. It was complete quiet as he passed them, their eyes tracing him warily.

As he stood at the vending machine, a voice came from behind him. "Didn't realize you were such a primadonna," Donghyuck said.

"Well, now you know."

Donghyuck let out a soft _tsk_ from between his teeth, then walked away.

Renjun bent to retrieve his snack, and as he did so, he searched down the hall for Jeno's face. He was a little ways off, among a group of other trainees, sipping from his water bottle. When he noticed Renjun staring, he raised his bottle as if in a toast, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an apology to everyone who thought this would be a healing fic once renjun met the other dreamies... i promise i love markhyuck and i will be kinder to them later on lmao
> 
> this chapter is on the shorter side.....but i'm very excited for next chapter........and jaemin :)
> 
> ty for reading!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	5. Chapter 5

Na Jaemin joined CZN Entertainment on Renjun’s birthday. In retrospect, Renjun might have considered Jaemin as some sort of gift from the universe, someone he did not deserve but felt incredibly lucky to have.

They first met that evening. March was drawing to a close, and outside the sun had begun to melt away winter’s symptoms, dead grass uncovered and snow fading into a lingering memory. Most of the trainees were enjoying the good weather. Renjun, meanwhile, remained in his room. Nearly three months along, and yet he still felt distant, like the other boys existed in a different time or a parallel universe. There, but not there for him.

He heard a knock at his door.

When he opened it, he was confronted by big eyes and a bigger smile.

“Hello,” the boy said.

“Hello.”

“I’m Jaemin. I’m a new trainee. What’s your name?”

“Renjun.”

Jaemin scrunched his brows. “Say it again?”

“Renjun.”

“Lonjoon?” Jaemin tried.

“Uh…”

“I’m sorry. Was I close?”

Renjun might have normally been annoyed. But Jaemin’s face showed only an honest, apologetic concern, as if his difficulty at pronouncing Renjun’s name was some kind of terrible mistake; the kindness was borne into his very bones.

“It’s okay,” Renjun said. “You can call me Injun. It’s my Korean name.”

“Ah. Injun. That’s way easier.” Perky again, he peered past Renjun’s shoulder. “Do you have a single? That’s awesome.”

“Are you in the dorms?”

“Nah, I’m from Seoul. Mark just invited me back here to meet some of you guys.”

_Of course,_ Renjun thought. _Mark. Friend to everyone, friend to no one._

“How long have you been here?” Jaemin asked.

“Three months.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen. Or -- sixteen, I guess,” Renjun corrected. “Today’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” Jaemin’s face lit up and he grabbed Renjun’s hand. “Happy birthday!”

“Uh, thanks.” Renjun snaked his hand away, drawing back slightly into his room.

“Are you having a party?”

“Well -- no --”

“We should throw one, then!” Jaemin turned down the hall and cupped a hand around his mouth. “Mark! Can we throw Renjun a birthday party?”

Renjun wanted to sink into the floor. He was embarrassed, though not angry. Jaemin’s genuine enthusiasm was hard to feel spiteful towards.

“Huh?” Mark answered. “What do you mean? It’s his birthday?”

Renjun had not told anyone it was his birthday. Mostly because he knew any reaction to it would feel put-on. He wasn’t close enough to any of them for their birthday wishes to mean anything.

Mark came down from his room and leaned into Renjun’s doorway. “Why didn’t you say it was your birthday?”

“I don’t know.”

“We should have a party,” Jaemin insisted.

“Well, we could go get dinner or something,” Mark said.

“I already ate.” A cup of ramen, alone at his desk. But Renjun didn’t want everyone making a fuss.

“What about dessert, then?” Jaemin suggested. “Is there a convenience store nearby? We could all get ice cream.”

There was, in fact, a convenience store just down the street. At that moment, Renjun determined that being forced to leave his dorm was an inevitability.

“Alright, alright.” He turned towards his closet and retrieved his coat. “Let’s go, then.”

Jaemin’s smile was a hundred-watt bulb.

The sky was close to black, and despite the city lights, it was studded by dim little stars, like salt scattered over a patch of ice. The air smelled damp from melting snow, and the trees, though leafless, had taken on a new sort of life, strengthened by winter’s retreat. All the way down the street, Mark kicked along a pebble. It made a quiet skidding against the asphalt.

The door jingled when they went inside. Jaemin bounded right up to the ice cream case. “What kind do you like, Injun?”

“I don’t eat many sweets,” Renjun said. “I haven’t tried most of them yet.”

“Hmm.” Jaemin leaned lower, face nearly pressing to the glass. “What about this one? I used to eat these all the time when I was little. The push-up ones.” He slid the case open. “Do you want chocolate, strawberry, or melon? Oh, they have banana, too…”

“You can pick.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Jaemin leaned down and picked. The neon light from the store window made his dark hair shine green.

As they approached the register, Renjun stuck out his hand to take his ice cream.

“No no,” Jaemin said, waggling a finger. “It’s your birthday. I’m paying for it.”

Renjun felt his face grow warm. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I do.”

“If you really want to pay for someone, you can pay for me,” Mark said.

“You’re on your own, man.” Jaemin dropped the ice creams onto the counter.

Mark pouted.

Renjun peeled open his push-pop as they walked back. Jaemin had given him the chocolate one. When he tasted it, he reeled back slightly at the sweetness.

“Do you not like it?” Jaemin asked.

“It’s good.”

“Do you wanna trade?” Jaemin poked his melon pop in Renjun’s direction.

“That’s okay.”

Jaemin gave him a skeptical, half-lidded stare before taking the pop from Renjun’s hands and replacing it with his own. “Try that one.”

Renjun did. It was milder, milkier, but really he could hardly taste it because he was distracted by the thought that what Jaemin had just done was the exact sort of thing his mother might have. She could always tell when he was fibbing to make her feel better, and she always tried to fix the little things she could, because she was not capable of fixing the big ones.

He remembered his twelfth birthday. That year, his mother didn’t have enough money to afford something nice for him. She’d warned him a few days in advance, and Renjun, mature for his age, had accepted it. But the guilt had eaten at her.

He could tell when he’d woken up that morning that it was going to be a Bad Day. He’d known it from the way his mother’s fingers had shaken as she gathered her hair in a ponytail. He’d known it from how she’d forgotten to turn the burner off and cooked their breakfast black. He’d smiled as he ate it, and told her it was good. She’d shaken her head and said nothing.

At lunchtime, Renjun had asked if they could go eat hotpot at the little shop on the corner. His mother had said no. She hadn’t said why, but he’d known it was because she was afraid. Sometimes, she saw and heard things that weren’t there, and being in public made it worse; she would become wary of every little thing, from strangers sitting at other tables to plastic bags floating in the wind. To anyone else, those were simple parts of life. To her, they were distorted shadows and disembodied voices.

Renjun had known this, so when she’d denied him, he’d simply nodded and accepted it. Still, as the day went on, Renjun had felt what he’d known was an unfair bitterness turning in his stomach. It had been bad enough that he wasn’t getting a present or a party. But then his mother was having one of her episodes on top of it. _It’s not her fault,_ he’d told himself, but even so, it hadn’t stopped the hurt.

It had overflowed when he’d seen her standing at the kitchen sink, downing a pill with a sip of water.

“It’s my birthday,” he’d said, voice wavering, “but you can’t even stop just for today? You can’t be normal, just this once?”

When she’d looked at him, it was as if she didn’t recognize him for a moment. Renjun had bit his lip and run to his bedroom.

He’d cried face down into his pillow. He’d heard her shuffle in, drop down, and sit on the floor beside his bed. He’d felt her fingers combing through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” she’d said. “I’m trying.”

“I know.”

She’d poked at his hand so he would turn it over, palm up, then placed something in it. Renjun looked up, and found a little paper crane, folded from a piece of a shopping flyer.

“I’m sorry,” she’d said again.

Renjun had forgiven her, because in the end, he always did. Maybe he gave her too many chances, but Renjun felt she deserved them all.

The little paper crane had sat on his bedroom window sill after that, a cherished gift, but now, he didn’t know where it was. When he’d packed his bag, the children’s services worker standing at his doorway, he must have forgotten to take it with him. It only occurred to him right then, as the ice cream melted on his tongue.

“Are you okay?” Jaemin asked.

“What?” Renjun blinked and found Jaemin’s eyes, turned a warm, golden brown from the streetlight above their heads.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Renjun raised a hand and found his cheeks were wet. Quickly, he wiped them with his sleeve.

“Was the melon flavor really that bad? Worse than the chocolate?” Jaemin asked.

“No.” Renjun took a bite to demonstrate. “It’s good. Really good.”

Jaemin smiled. It was brighter than the sun. Bright enough to kill winter and kickstart spring.

“You two are weird.” Mark kicked a pebble between Renjun’s legs.

“Shut the hell up, Mark,” Renjun said.

“Yeah, shut the hell up,” Jaemin parroted, sticking his tongue out in Mark’s direction. “This is why I didn’t buy you your ice cream.”

Renjun buried his laugh in his coat collar.

\---

School was a dull, throbbing thorn in Renjun’s side. He only went because he didn’t want to get in trouble with the company, and even then he only put in just enough effort to pass his tests. The school he was enrolled in was the same one several other trainees went to, though he didn’t talk to them much; ever since the day he had stood with his chin jutting and demanded the instructor’s approval, the other trainees seemed to make sure they were a step outside his bubble. He’d known that would be the case, of course, because no one would want to be friends with a cold, arrogant boy. Even Donghyuck, whose self-importance had seemed unshakable, had become suddenly less interested in picking on Renjun, perhaps realizing he’d met his match. Renjun paid special notice to the narrowing of Donghyuck’s eyes every time he heard Renjun’s rapidly improving voice or saw his new quickness at picking up the dances.

If he and Mark were in the same grade, Renjun might have hung around him during the day -- though Renjun still did not like Mark very much, they had acquired a certain familiarity from living in the dorms together. They did have the same lunch period, though. Renjun often brought a book (a handy “do not speak to me” signal) and sat across from Mark. Mark was unbothered by it. It was better than the both of them sitting alone.

Renjun was, however, in the same grade as Jeno. Jeno was a bit of an enigma. After he’d taught Renjun that first dance, Renjun had thought they had struck something close to friendship, but he soon realized that Jeno was a boy who was friends with everyone, and this made their meeting seem suddenly less special. Renjun would sometimes pass him in the hallway, as he stood among a group of other boys, and they would meet each other’s eyes. Jeno would wave or smile, but he would not call Renjun’s name.

Renjun decided that Jeno had only spoken to him in the first place because he felt sorry for him; and now that Renjun could survive on his own, there was no need for them to interact.

Still, Renjun wanted to.

Sometimes, he saw Jeno sitting in the courtyard with a girl (never the same one twice). He would lean in, whisper something against her ear, and she would giggle demurely at his shoulder, cheeks pink.

And other times, Jeno did not go to school at all. Clearly, he did not hold the same fear that Renjun did of CZN raining hell down on his head for neglecting his studies. About half the time, Jeno was absent, and on the days he was there, if a boy would ask him where he had been, Jeno would only offer a nonchalant shrug and turn back around in his seat.

Renjun _did_ know where Jeno went on his absent days -- down to the basement studios at the company building, just as he had the day they first met, to steal away into an empty room and practice his dancing. It was a devotion that rivaled Sicheng’s, flowing in his very veins. All of the trainees were dedicated, of course; they would not have passed the audition if they weren’t. But there was something about Jeno that ran deeper, as if he were born for it. And at the same time, he made everything look so easy. Renjun realized it was a bit like gravity -- people seemed to circle Jeno in the same way a planet might circle a star.

Renjun was not entirely resistant to this effect.

One day at lunch, Renjun did not sit across from Mark. Instead, he went to the hallway window and looked out into the courtyard. For once, Jeno was not accompanied by a girl. Rather, he sat alone on a bench, tapping at his phone. Renjun made his way downstairs to the door.

Jeno looked up as Renjun approached with his usual closed-lipped smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Renjun stood awkwardly beside him, toeing at the dirt. “You came to school today.”

“I know. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Jeno’s wryness made Renjun think he had said something wrong, but when he met his eyes he only saw mild amusement.

“Why,” Renjun dared to ask, “do you do it?”

Jeno leaned his head back, his hair brushing the pockmarked concrete of the building behind him. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t really see what the point is. It’s not like I need a high school diploma to become an idol. It won’t do me any good.”

“But practicing more will,” Renjun concluded. “You don’t get sick of it there? I mean, practicing all morning and then coming in for training at night. That’s like twelve hours a day in the studio.”

“I’d rather be there than anywhere else.”

At this, Renjun felt his heartbeat do a strange stutter, aching with curiosity. “_Anywhere_ else? What about your house?”

“Yep.”

“Your girlfriend’s house?”

Jeno laughed. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You don’t?”

“Well. Not a permanent one.”

Renjun narrowed his eyes and chewed his lip.

“Don’t look like that. What are you, a prude?”

“No.”

“Are you a virgin?”

For some reason, Renjun flinched at this. He felt his face go red.

“Yeah, Jeno,” he snapped. “I’m a virgin. What’s your point?”

Jeno, seeming genuinely taken aback, said, “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”

Renjun crossed his arms and let out a harsh huff of a breath. “It’s fine,” he said coolly.

Jeno continued to regard Renjun with raised brows, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. Then, suddenly, he leaned forward and reached out to grab Renjun’s hand. “Remember what I told you?” he said, running his thumb over Renjun’s birthmark. “You ought to cover your bruises.”

“It’s not a bruise. It’s a mole.”

“I know. I’m only screwing with you.”

Renjun yanked his hand away. “Yeah. And you’re enjoying it way too much.”

“What can I say?” Jeno propped his chin on his hand. “You’re fun to fluster. You act so above-it-all in practice, but when you’re alone, you’re different.”

“Different how?”

“Like how you were when I taught you that dance. And when I met you on the stairs. Kind of vulnerable.”

Renjun had forgotten that Jeno had been the one to see him like that. Crying. Struggling against himself. He didn’t like the way it felt. Like Jeno knew him from the inside out, though they could hardly even be called friends.

“If you say so.” As nonchalantly as he could manage, Renjun stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way back to the courtyard door. Behind him, he heard Jeno’s soft laugh.

\---

Though he didn’t live in the dorms, Jaemin became something of a permanent fixture. Nearly everyday after training, he would come back with Mark to play games in his room, and by extension, to poke his head into Renjun’s door and beg for attention like a little yappy dog. One night, he arrived with a duffel bag hoisted over his shoulder, which Renjun eyed suspiciously as he opened his door.

“Injunnie,” Jaemin said, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly. “Can I stay the night?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to have a sleepover, but Mark’s roommate won’t let me stay in their room.”

“I’m doing homework.”

“_Please,_” Jaemin begged, bouncing in place. “I won’t bother you. I’ll just put my sleeping bag on the floor and curl up. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“You brought a sleeping bag?” Renjun asked incredulously.

“_Please,_ Injunnie. I brought snacks, too.”

“Fine. But only because you asked nicely.”

Jaemin slipped past Renjun while doing a little dance and claimed his place on the carpet.

Renjun sat back down at his desk while Jaemin situated himself. Leaning back over his workbook, he tucked his hair behind his ears to keep it out of his eyes. He’d thought about getting a trim a few months ago, but it had never panned out, because for one thing he was terribly frugal despite his new allowance, and for another thing, he hated the thought of going to the hair salon alone. He was no good at small talk -- there was no way he’d survive sitting in that chair for so long while having to suffer the awkward silence. At least when he’d lived in Wenzhou, his uncle had chatted up the barber the entire time, though largely at his expense: _Do whatever you want with him, you can’t possibly make the little bastard look any worse._

From the floor, Jaemin seemed to notice. “Do you need a haircut?”

“Maybe.”

“I can do it, if you want. Do you have any scissors?”

“I’m not letting you cut my hair.”

“My aunt’s a hair stylist. I’ve seen her do it a million times.”

“That doesn’t mean the skill automatically transfers.”

“I’d do a good job. I promise.”

Renjun sighed. “Fine. I think there are some scissors in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Yay!” Jaemin leapt up and immediately ran down the hall. “Bring your chair!” he added, his voice a distant shout.

Renjun dragged his wheely chair all the way to the bathroom to find Jaemin studying his shears in the mirror. “Yes,” he said, putting on earnest airs. “These will have to do.”

“What kind of act is this?”

“Hush. Sit down.” Jaemin pushed on Renjun’s shoulders and lowered him down onto the chair. Then he constructed a bib from a towel, which he stole from the drying rod, and placed it around Renjun’s neck.

“Let’s see,” he said, running his fingers through Renjun’s too-long locks. “What kind of look were you thinking today, sir?”

“Something really basic that even a person with no experience couldn’t possibly screw up.”

“Ah. I see, I see.” Jaemin puffed out his cheeks in contemplation. “I’ll do my best.”

He began to snip away, just the very ends at first, then larger bits as he gained more confidence. Even though he’d been acting silly, he took his job very seriously, eyes huge with concentration. Renjun relaxed into his seat, finding comfort in the feeling of Jaemin’s hands in his hair.

“Hey,” said Mark, who came up in the bathroom doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving Injun a haircut,” Jaemin responded, not looking up from his work.

“At ten PM? In the middle of our bathroom?”

“Yup.”

“I have to piss.”

“Then you’ll just have to wait, won’t you?”

Renjun snickered, his breath blowing a few strands of snipped hair from his bib.

“_Hey,_” Mark said. “That’s my towel.”

“It’s moved on to bigger and better things.” Jaemin waved a dismissive hand. “Come back in fifteen, Mark.”

Mark muttered something under his breath and shuffled back towards his room.

“What a stick in the mud,” Jaemin said lightly, fluffing Renjun’s hair at the back to check his work.

“Aren’t you glad you’re staying in my room, and not his?”

Jaemin giggled and wrapped his arms over Renjun’s shoulders, pulling him into a bear hug from behind.

“Careful, careful, careful! You’re holding a pair of scissors, remember?”

“Sorry.”

\---

On a warm April evening, the trainees were trapped inside. Dance training in room A12, a few minutes to spare before the instructor arrived. Renjun stood slightly apart, watching. Across the room, Donghyuck was singing to himself, which sounded good, of course, and clearly he wanted everyone else to know exactly how good he sounded, which is why he was singing in the first place. Further back, Jeno and Jaemin sat together against the mirror, watching a video on Jaemin’s phone. Jaemin laughed into Jeno’s shoulder.

Renjun did not know at what point the two had become such close friends. He considered walking over and joining them -- he knew them both well enough, didn’t he? -- but instead, he stayed by himself.

When the instructor walked in, everyone jumped up and made rows.

“We’ll be learning another routine today,” he announced. “We’ll need to be in groups.”

Donghyuck raised his hand. “Do we get to choose our groups this time?”

“Of course not.”

Donghyuck’s hand fell, heavy with disappointment.

The instructor began walking around, pushing groups together. When he arrived at Renjun, he tilted his head in quiet contemplation before turning around and calling, “Donghyuck, Mark, and Jeno!”

The other three came over, sneakers squeaking against the laminated floor.

“Again?” Mark asked. They’d been put in the exact same group the last two times. Admittedly, they’d done well together, all being strong dancers. Renjun had particularly liked the moment the previous week when Jeno had been placed in the center and Donghyuck’s face had gone red in response, on the verge of balking. He’d been in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

“Yes,” the instructor said firmly. He turned and surveyed the other trainees, scratching at his chin. “And… Jaemin.”

Jaemin, looking a little surprised, came over and joined them. The instructor moved onto the next group.

“What the hell?” Donghyuck said. “Why do you think he put us together again?”

“Maybe he thinks we have good chemistry,” Jeno offered.

Renjun snorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Donghyuck asked, hands on his hips.

“Nothing.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Don’t start, you two.”

Renjun didn’t _try_ to start fights with Donghyuck, per se. It just came about naturally. Frankly, he liked being in a group with Donghyuck -- the two of them seemed to work better when constantly trying to one-up each other.

“I think this is a great group,” Jaemin said. “We’ll be the best in the room.” If anyone else had said it, it would have sounded disingenuous, but it being Jaemin, the words were resonant.

“He didn’t give us parts,” Jeno observed.

Just then, the instructor came back to the front of the room and announced, “This time, we’ll be doing things a little differently. You’ll all be expected to perform the vocal parts along with the dance routine, as if this were a proper performance. I suggest you take it very seriously.”

Renjun raised a brow. Whatever this was meant to be, it sounded high stakes.

“You’ll also be expected to self-assign the parts of the performance. Really think it through. If someone isn’t performing their part well, it’ll reflect badly on the whole group.”

After they watched the example routine on the TV that had been wheeled into the corner of the room (it was a Superstar performance, in fact; Renjun had a strange feeling of deja vu), the trainees sat on the floor in their groups, debating parts. Mark had pulled out his notepad, tapping the end of his pen against the metal of the spiral binding. “Okay, so. There are three vocal parts, two rap parts.”

Jaemin quickly raised his hand. “I’m not a very good singer. I think I should probably take one of the rap parts.”

“Alright. Is everyone okay with that?”

They all nodded, except Donghyuck, who said, “I want the main vocal part.”

“Which one?”

“The one who does the high note. Seeing as I’m the strongest singer out of us.”

“Are you?” Renjun asked.

“Here we go again,” Mark whined.

“As if you could pull it off.” Donghyuck crossed his arms, shooting Renjun a haughty look.

Renjun actually wasn’t totally confident in his ability to do so. He’d gotten much better from his vocal lessons, but he had to admit Donghyuck was more stable than himself. And dancing at the same time was another issue altogether. But if this was going to be an important task, then he wanted the role where he could prove himself the best, and if that meant taking the hardest part, he would do it, regardless of whose toes he had to step on.

Luckily, he didn’t much mind if those toes were Donghyuck’s.

“I could do it. And I could do it better than you,” Renjun said.

Donghyuck looked only a few seconds away from leaping across and throttling him.

“Maybe we should put it to a vote, then,” Mark offered, trying to diffuse the tension. “Since this’ll reflect on all of us, we should each have some say, right?”

“Fine," Donghyuck said, looking all too confident. “Vote, then.”

Jeno raised his hand. “I vote for Renjun.”

“What?”

Even Renjun was surprised. He met Jeno’s eyes, mouth slightly parted. Jeno only gave the slightest hint of a smile.

“Mark,” Donghyuck said quickly, “who are you voting for?” The words carried the cool edge of a threat, an unspoken _it better be me, or else._

Mark’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them before he answered, “I vote for Donghyuck.”

Renjun knew he would vote that way, anyway; Mark was always the most easily influenced by Donghyuck's intimidation tactics.

“What about you?” Donghyuck gestured in Jaemin’s direction.

“Uh.” Jaemin squirmed where he sat, fiddling with his shirtsleeves. “I don’t really want to vote. I don’t want to make anyone mad.”

“I won’t be mad,” Donghyuck insisted, though he was clearly mad already.

Jaemin looked up at Renjun. Renjun stared back, but said nothing.

“I vote for Injun,” Jaemin finally said.

“Renjun it is.” Mark quickly jotted it down, letting out a relieved breath that the whole ordeal was over with. “Let’s move on to --”

Donghyuck got up and left the room.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jaemin asked.

“Nah,” Jeno responded. “He’s just being pissy. Give him a few minutes.”

“Was it worth it?” Mark looked up at Renjun from his notepad, eyes uncommonly sharp.

Renjun only shrugged.

\---

Donghyuck eventually returned to them (eyes red as if he had been crying -- Renjun had to resist the urge to say something snide about it), and they began practicing. Jeno had taken the other rap part, which was also the most difficult dance part, but no one tried to rival him for the spot; it seemed natural that he should have it. As expected, singing on top of the track was far more difficult than any of them had anticipated. They were all out of breath by the time the second verse came around.

At dinner time, they took a half-hour break. Mark, Donghyuck, and Jaemin went to grab food at a shop down the street, while Renjun remained behind to have his standard vending machine fare.

“You’ll get sick, starving yourself like that,” Jeno said, leaning against the other machine.

“No I won’t.”

“You’re all skin and bones already.”

“Aren’t idols supposed to be thin?”

Jeno didn’t argue, only acknowledged Renjun’s point with a vague hum.

“Why did you do that earlier?” Renjun asked, peeling open the crinkly plastic of his cookies.

“Do what?”

“Vote for me.”

Jeno turned, pressing his shoulder against the red Coke logo and stuffing his hands lazily into his pockets. “Because I want to see what you’ll do.”

“What, like it’s some kind of experiment?”

“No. I just like the thought of you being centerstage. Seems like how it should be, doesn’t it?”

Renjun looked up slowly, trying to read whatever meaning Jeno put behind those words. He wondered if there would ever come a day when Lee Jeno didn’t seem to be some kind of perfect mystery.

“Do you want a cookie?” Renjun asked.

Jeno placed one on his tongue, chewed, and swallowed. Renjun watched, his eyes tracing the fine curve of the other boy’s throat, heart hammering.

He looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	6. Chapter 6

After practice, Renjun went to grab his backpack from the corner of the room. He reached into its front pocket, then froze.

Jeno, walking up behind him, noticed the furrowing of his brows and said, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Renjun responded. He shook his head and pulled his backpack on. He’d had his cell phone when he’d got there that afternoon, hadn’t he? He remembered stuffing it into that front pocket, hitting the button to put it on silent. He glanced over the floor nearby, wondering if it had somehow fallen out, but found nothing.

His eyes flitted up to Donghyuck, who stood a little ways away, face still fallen from having been outvoted.

Renjun frowned, then left.

\---

The next day was a Saturday, which they were given as a day off. Inexplicably, Jaemin still showed up at the dorms.

“It’s too boring at home,” he complained, laying across Renjun’s bed. “My mom always bugs me to do my homework.”

Renjun tucked his own assignment into a folder. “She’s probably right.”

“I know, but I’m lazy.” Jaemin rolled over onto his stomach and propped his chin on his palm. “Hey, why didn’t you respond to my texts last night? Was I being bothersome?”

Renjun shook his head quickly. “Of course not. I, uh… fell asleep as soon as I got back.” Truthfully, he’d never found his phone, though he had a sneaking suspicion of where it might be. He didn’t want to tell Jaemin about it, though -- the other boy would only worry.

“Hmm.” Jaemin toyed with a loose thread from Renjun’s sheets. “We should do something fun. How about getting dinner somewhere?”

“Should we ask Mark to come?”

“Nah. Just us two. It’ll be fun.” Jaemin stood, crossed to where Renjun sat at his desk, and perched himself on the arm of the chair. “There’s this really good barbecue place in Garosu-gil. We should go there.”

“You’re the Seoul native. I trust your opinion.”

Jaemin grinned and tugged at Renjun’s arm.

They took the subway out of Samseong-dong. Renjun had never been on the Seoul subway before; he typically only ventured places that were within walking distance of the dorms. Jaemin, however, was perfectly confident, purchasing Renjun’s ticket for him at the gate and guiding him through onto the train. There was one empty seat. Jaemin gestured for Renjun to take it. Renjun stubbornly refused. He jabbed his finger at the seat, like an owner bidding a puppy to sit. Jaemin smirked and shook his head.

Both stood the whole way.

The restaurant sat on a corner, a little brown-hutted entrance built into a squat brick building, where the trees that lined the street seemed to guide Renjun’s eyes to it like lights on a runway. Even from a distance, he could smell something delicious cooking from inside, a mix of garlic and sesame. As they entered, they were met by steam like rolling fog, which obscured the heads of the patrons seated at the tables.

The woman at the front counter led them to a booth. Jaemin quickly slid his credit card across the table.

“Hey --”

“Let me do it,” Jaemin insisted. “It was my idea to come here anyway, so I should pay. Plus I just got my allowance for this month.”

Renjun was reminded that Jaemin’s parents were probably paying for everything, including Jaemin’s training. He wondered if they were well-off, but didn’t ask.

The waitress returned with their food. Jaemin, laying a strip of _bulgogi_ in the pot, said, “So what do you think of our group?”

“You want to talk about training on our day off?”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Renjun swallowed a bite of kimchi. “It’s fine, I guess. Everyone’s talented. It’s just…”

“Hard to get along?” Jaemin guessed.

Renjun nodded. “But I suppose that’s something we need to get used to. We can’t always work with people we like in this industry.”

“Yeah.” Jaemin nabbed the beef, sizzling and brown, from the pot and placed it on Renjun’s plate. “But I’m glad I get to work with you, Injun.”

Renjun, cheeks pink, said, “You should eat first, since you bought it. You don’t need to baby me.”

“I’m not babying you. I’m trying to fatten you up.” Jaemin shoved another strip of beef in front of Renjun. “If we’re gonna do well, we all need to be in good shape. Which means you need to eat more.”

“It’s none of your business,” Renjun muttered under his breath, but he ate anyway. The food was excellent, hot on his tongue, warming him from head to toe.

There was a moment of silence as they both chewed, savoring the flavor of the meat. Subtly, so as not to be noticed, Renjun looked up at Jaemin’s face. His eyes, half-closed, made his lashes dark over his cheeks, and his skin glowed soft gold under the restaurant lights.

“Jaemin.”

“What?”

“How did you decide to become an idol?”

Jaemin leaned back in his seat, turning up his face, exposing the hard line of his jaw. “Hmm. I guess I just always wanted to be famous. When I was little, I saw pop stars on TV, and thought it was amazing how much people loved them. Like, you’ll never meet them, or even really know them, but you love them anyway. Unconditionally.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds shallow.”

“Does it?” Jaemin came forward again, resting his arms across the table top, eyes locking with Renjun’s. “I don’t think it’s shallow at all. It’s loving someone, while accepting that you won’t ever fully know them. That’s a difficult kind of love to have.”

Renjun thought of his mother. He didn’t understand what went on in her head, what the world looked like through her eyes. He probably never would. But he loved her anyway. Maybe Jaemin was on to something.

“My dad’s a surgeon,” Jaemin said. “He always wanted me to be one, too. He said that there’s nothing more rewarding than saving lives for a living. But I think an idol could save lives, too. In a different way.”

Renjun didn’t know how to respond to such open idealism. He’d never thought of fame as an unselfish avenue, something pursued to try and help other people. The cynical side of him told him that Jaemin’s father had probably been right, that to try and change the world, there were more practical means. But it was hard to not be swayed but the complete and utter conviction in Jaemin’s face.

“You really think you could save someone?” he asked.

“Even if it was just one person,” Jaemin answered, “that would be enough.”

On the way back to the subway terminal, Jaemin slung his arm around Renjun’s shoulders. The world smelled softly of spring -- budding leaves, oncoming rain, the promise of something new. The sun, beginning to sink, threw their shadows far behind them, forms abstract.

“You know,” Jaemin said. “I want us to debut together. I want us to be on stage together.”

Renjun remembered Sicheng having said the exact same thing. He felt his heart shake, provoked by the memory, the pain of an old wound being reopened.

“Are you okay?” Jaemin asked, noticing Renjun’s expression.

“I’m fine,” he responded, trying to disguise the sorrow in his voice. “I want that, too.”

He wondered if, just a few months ago, he could have ever conceived of a future without Sicheng in it.

He felt guilt, an unhealed aching, and the warmth of Jaemin’s hand.

\---

When Renjun arrived back at the dorm, he found his cellphone. It lay in front of his room door, screen shattered, bent in the middle.

\---

Jeno was in the studio, as usual.

At the very least, he wasn’t skipping school this time, since it was a Sunday. Renjun poked his head in the door, watching Jeno as he moved through their new routine. Only two days of practice, yet he was impeccable; just as polished as the Superstar performance but also fully, undoubtedly Jeno’s version of it. Even if he couldn’t see his face, Renjun would know Jeno’s dancing anywhere.

The music died. Jeno flopped down onto the floor, lying on his back with his arms stretched above his head. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Did you come to practice?”

“Yes.” Renjun walked over and sat down at Jeno’s side, legs crossed. “How long have you been here?”

“A few hours, I guess.”

“It’s nine AM.”

“Yeah.”

Waking up early was a teenage boy’s worst enemy. Renjun was impressed by Jeno’s dedication.

“Not hanging out with a girl on the weekend?” Renjun asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“Tonight, actually. That’s why I came here so early.”

“Ah.” Renjun found he had not actually wanted to know the answer to that question. He scratched distractedly at the crook of his elbow.

“I tried to text you,” Jeno said.

“You did?” Renjun perked back up.

“Yeah. I thought you might want to practice with me.”

“Well…” He hadn’t wanted to tell Jaemin about it, but Jeno was different. Jeno wouldn’t worry himself sick about Renjun. Just like with the bruises, he would offer practical advice. “Someone stole my cell phone and broke it.”

Jeno’s face remained impassive, as if Renjun had simply told him the weather report. “Oh. That sucks.”

“You’re not surprised by it?”

“This kind of stuff happens. People can be nasty. Do you know who did it?”

Renjun, carefully, answered, “Well, I have an idea.”

“You’re not thinking it was Donghyuck, are you?”

“He hates me. It seems like the most obvious option.”

Jeno shook his head. “I know he’s a brat, but he wouldn’t do that sort of thing.”

“How are you so sure?” Renjun countered, a little offended at Jeno’s dismissive tone.

“I’ve been training with him for almost two years. He wouldn’t stoop that low. Plus, if he _did_ do something like that, he’d want you to know it was him. Couldn’t let someone else take credit for it.”

“But he did leave in the middle of training the other night,” Renjun said, scrambling. “He could have taken it then. That’s when it went missing.”

“Pretty sure he didn’t stop by our bags. You’re overthinking it.”

Renjun sighed. “Who else would it be, then?”

“Could be anyone.” Jeno sat up, pushing his hair back from his forehead and wiping a residual gleam of sweat. “Not to sound rude or anything, but you haven’t given most of the trainees much reason to like you.”

Unconvinced, Renjun crossed his arms. “Well. I’ll keep an eye out then.”

“Don’t start anything with Donghyuck. It’ll only drag the group down.”

“I wasn’t planning on starting anything.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell. You’re pouting.”

This made Renjun pout harder.

Jeno reached out and gave him a gentle pat on the cheek. “I’m serious. We’re doing well now, so let’s not screw it up.” He stood. “Run through it with me.”

Renjun, still surprised at the touch, took a moment to process it before getting to his feet.

\---

Monday night. A12. Practice again. The sounds of quick-moving feet and groans of frustration.

Renjun found that he was able to hit the high note while standing perfectly still, but the assignment was to do it while dancing, which seemed like an impossibility. By the time they got to the bridge, he was always breathing so hard that the note only came out as a thin exhale. He felt Donghyuck’s eyes, sharp with judgment, every glance an arrow.

The rest of them were getting tired, too. They needed the routine perfect by the end of the week, yet they still found new troubles with every run through. It was lucky that Jeno was their center, because he seemed to be holding them together; otherwise, they might have fallen apart long before their final performance.

“Jaemin, you’re getting too close to me,” Donghyuck said. “I don’t have room to move my arms for the next part.”

“But if I step back, I’ll bump into Renjun.”

“Then bump into Renjun.”

Mark let out a heavy sigh and took it upon himself to rearrange his teammates. Though Renjun usually found Mark’s deliberate impartialness to be infuriating, it did help in sorting out conflicts.

They ran through it again, for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night. By now, Renjun’s voice was strained, and the note came out flimsier than ever, a weak whistle.

He heard Donghyuck mutter something under his breath.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“I said, we might as well quit now.” Donghyuck came closer. “You’ll make the rest of us look bad, so there’s no point in trying.”

“Donghyuck,” Mark said quietly.

“It’s true.” Donghyuck raised his hand in Renjun’s direction, an accusatory gesture. “We all know we would’ve been better off if I had his part. You all only gave it to him because you feel sorry for him -- ‘cause he has no friends.”

“They don’t feel sorry for me,” Renjun snapped, smacking Donghyuck’s hand out of his face. “I’m not the one always playing the victim. I don’t make a big show of going to cry in the hallway, acting all innocent while I wreck people’s stuff behind their backs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Donghyuck’s face contorted in confusion.

“Renjun.” Jeno put his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s all just take a break and clear our heads.”

“No way.” Donghyuck jabbed a finger against Renjun’s chest. “Now he’s accusing me of shit I didn’t even do.”

Renjun stepped away slightly, backing right into Jeno, whose hand still rested firm on his shoulder. That hand slipped down to Renjun’s arm, fingers circling in a steady grip. “It’s not worth it,” Jeno said quietly. He turned his head up towards Donghyuck. “Stop it. Now.”

“Why do you keep standing up for him?” Donghyuck shouted. “It isn’t fair. No matter how much he fucks it up, you all act like it’s okay, when our whole careers depend on it.”

Renjun could only hear the implication underneath. _The only reason Renjun’s gotten this far, is because he’s had other people helping him. It isn’t talent. It isn’t hard work._ And some small part of Renjun found himself agreeing. Before Jeno, hadn’t it been Sicheng who had guided him, raised him up, shined him to gold? And where was Sicheng now? Still in Wenzhou, screwed over, while Renjun benefited. When all of that was taken away, what remained? A boy who was useless on his own, who had made it to Korea on pure, dumb luck.

A dam broke, and as if propelled by its current, Renjun yanked himself from Jeno’s hand and punched Donghyuck hard in the jaw.

“Hey! You guys --”

Renjun could hear the others shouting, but he didn’t care. He only felt the jarring of his bones as he and Donghyuck hit the ground, the sting of his knuckles as he struck Donghyuck again in the mouth, the tearing of the air from his lungs as Donghyuck’s knee hit his stomach.

Suddenly, he was jerked away, the collar of his shirt yanked tight, digging into his throat. He stumbled back, thrown out of the way. Jeno stood above him, placing himself between the two of them. Mark ducked down to where Donghyuck still lay, holding him back in case he should try to keep fighting. A trickle of blood ran over Donghyuck’s lips, cut by his teeth when Renjun had punched him.

The door burst open, the instructor standing there, eyebrows furrowed. He’d been prowling the hall all evening, checking in on the groups who practiced in different studio rooms, but Renjun suspected the sudden noise had drawn him back to A12.

“What the hell is going on here?” His eyes flitted from Renjun, still catching his breath, to Donghyuck, bloody-lipped, to Jaemin, standing several feet away, looking frightened. He held the door open, and very firmly said, “All of you in the hallway, now.”

Jeno, eyes dark and disappointed, hauled Renjun to his feet and guided him out of the room. The others followed.

They were all lined up at the far end of the hall, sitting against the wall and staring at their laps.

“I don’t think I need to explain to you all how this is completely unacceptable,” the instructor said slowly, in the manner of a principal scolding schoolchildren. “I don’t know what this was about, but I have half a mind to pull your group out altogether.”

Guilt-stricken, Renjun wrung his hands, but didn’t speak up for fear of making things worse.

“And on company property, no less.” He glared at Donghyuck. “I expect your parents will use discretion. If they try to pursue anything legally, the company will have to step in, and your contact will be over before you can even blink.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Donghyuck nodded.

The instructor turned to Renjun. “Same here. This had better be the only incident we have, or you’ll be back on a plane to China in the morning.”

Behind him, there was a chorus of murmurs. They all looked up to see the other trainees having poked their heads from their studio doors, watching the disciplining with wide-eyed, curious expressions.

The instructor sighed. “Everyone, take a twenty minute break,” he called. He glanced back downwards. “But not you five. Take a few minutes to clean yourselves up. Then, you’re going home for tonight.”

“Wait,” Mark said. “We still need to practice…”

“You think you’ll achieve anything after two of your group members just got into a fistfight? You need a night to cool off. When you come back tomorrow, we’ll discuss reassigning you.”

“Reassigning?” Jeno echoed. “We can’t join new groups now. We’d have to relearn new parts.”

“Well, clearly I can’t keep all of you together.”

“Please,” Renjun finally spoke up. He stopped wringing his hands, and folded them in his lap as if to beg. “Please. It won’t happen again. I promise. Just don’t reassign us.” They couldn’t afford it now. And it wasn’t fair to others, who had tried to stop him -- they shouldn’t have to suffer for his impulsiveness.

The instructor regarded him, mouth a heavy slant. “You only get one chance,” he said.

“I understand.”

The instructor nodded. “Then make yourselves decent and get out of here. Come back tomorrow with better attitudes.” He turned back down the hall. The other trainees, some of whom were still watching them with intrigue, parted to let him pass.

Renjun let out a shuddering breath.

“Come on.” Mark stood and helped Donghyuck to his feet, pulling him towards the bathroom to mop the blood from his face. Donghyuck followed, but reluctantly, making sure he got in a good glare in Renjun’s direction before disappearing beyond the doorway.

Renjun, Jaemin, and Jeno still sat along the wall.

“Is your hand okay?” Jaemin asked. He pulled Renjun’s hand from his lap and examined his knuckles, which were red and sore. One of them bore a small cut from Donghyuck’s teeth.

“It’s fine.” Renjun drew his hand back. He didn’t want Jaemin’s sympathy. He didn’t deserve it. 

“You ought to work on your form,” Jeno said.

“What?”

“When you punch someone. You’re supposed to twist at the hips and push off your back leg.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to punch him.”

“I didn’t. I’m just saying, if you were going to punch him anyway, you might as well make it worth it.”

Drily, Renjun said, “Well, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I pummel one of our teammates.”

Jeno let out a small laugh.

“Don’t joke about that,” Jaemin said.

\---

When Mark and Donghyuck came back, they all returned to the practice room to retrieve their bags. Jeno entered first, but only halfway, standing frozen in the entrance. Renjun came up behind him, peering over his shoulder to see the contents of their bags strewn across the room -- class notes, journals, books, their pages splayed, some doused with water. Their school uniforms, which had been put away after they’d changed into their practice clothes, had also been rummaged through and soaked.

“What the hell?” Jeno said. He walked in slowly, kneeling down and picking up a drenched sheet of homework. A few drops of water spilled from its corner and splashed with a plinking sound against the floor.

Renjun turned and met Donghyuck’s eye.

“At least we know it wasn’t me this time,” Donghyuck said. Renjun was surprised to find that he said it without a self-satisfied smirk; instead, the other boy’s face was solemn. He still held a piece of paper towel to his lip.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun said.

Donghyuck shrugged and shuffled past him, joining Jeno to investigate. One of his school books lay on its spine, opened, the pages torn out. Picking up its pieces, he said, “Who do you think did it?”

Mark followed, nudging his wet school blazer with his toe. “Could have been any of them, while we were out in the hall.”

“But why would they do it?” Jaemin asked. He still stood with Renjun at the door, eyes round and confused. Renjun placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jeno dropped the wet paper and wiped his fingers on the knee of his pants. “They’re threatened by us. We’re the strongest team out of all of them, and the instructor keeps placing us back together.”

“So?” Renjun said.

“It looks to me --” Jeno’s gaze traveled around the room, stopping briefly on each of his teammates. “-- like a new group about to debut.”

\---

All five decided that it was best not to say anything about it. When Renjun went to the company office to receive a new phone, he didn’t mention any foul play, only that he’d dropped his last one down the stairs and it was broken beyond repair. The woman gave him a disapproving glance and muttered something about “irresponsible kids these days” under her breath, and slid his new phone across her desk.

At their next practice session, there was a newfound peacefulness. Renjun still did not like Donghyuck, probably never would, but the anger had passed. Similarly, Donghyuck did not say another nasty word to him; when Renjun struggled again to hit his note, the other boy simply walked over to him, pressed a hand to Renjun’s middle to readjust his posture, and said, “You’re not supporting it right. Try again like this. And take a deeper breath first.”

The instructor kept a more watchful eye on them that night, though he did not have to intervene. Renjun noticed him at one point watching them from the doorway, nodding very slightly as they went through their routine.

After a while, they became used to singing while they danced. Renjun found it was all about finding the right gaps, sneaking in stronger breaths, and metering the intensity of his movements to reduce the speed at which he became worn out. He also found that he could rely on others to take the burden. He didn’t need to push himself so hard when he knew Jeno was in the middle, calling all the attention to himself with the power in his dance. And though Renjun had wanted to shine the brightest, he realized he could only do it if every part worked in tandem, and that meant allowing everyone the spotlight.

The final night came.

All the groups stood in the same room, lining the walls in waiting. The instructor, in the midst of setting up a camera on a tripod, looked down at his watch. Renjun was not nervous, because the words Jeno had said before still rang in his ears: _They’re threatened by us._ He peered around at the other groups. Many of them were staring at him with bitter faces, but when he met their eyes, they looked away. He took a little pride in that. Perhaps he’d earned his place there, after all.

Beside him, though, Jaemin fidgeted anxiously. “This is gonna be some kind of test, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What happens if we fail it?” He rubbed his arms as if chasing away a shiver. “Will they terminate our contracts or something?”

“We won’t fail it,” Renjun answered. “And that seems extreme. They wouldn’t have signed us just to boot us a few months later.”

Jeno ran a hand through Jaemin’s hair, ruffling it. “Don’t worry about it now. You’ve put a lot of work in. It’ll pay off.”

Renjun kept watching Jeno’s hand, tender and consoling, and the way Jaemin’s hair slipped through his fingers. He felt a sudden twinge of jealousy, as if he ought to be the one in Jaemin’s place. He pushed the feeling down. He had no time for it.

Twenty minutes of waiting passed, when finally a man walked into the room. Middle-aged, hair streaked with gray, the thin scruff of a beard along his jaw. Even indoors, he wore dark glasses. He gave a curt bow to the instructor before moving to the back of the room and leaning against the wall. The instructor hit a button on the camera, then clapped his hands for attention.

“First group,” he beckoned.

Renjun watched five others trail out, all looking quite terrified, and perhaps they should have been, because within the first few seconds of the music coming on, one of them missed his cue to begin singing, coming in late with a tremor in his voice. At another point, one of them tripped over another’s leg while coming to the front of the formation, hitting his mark with an awkward stumble.

The man with the dark glasses watched expressionlessly. When they finished, he offered a slow, cool applause.

“Glad that’s not us,” Mark said. The sentiment rang true through most of the performances.

Their turn came last. The instructor called them up, and Renjun placed one last reassuring pat on Jaemin’s shoulder. As they took their starting marks, he remembered the day of his audition, the all-consuming nervousness that had bubbled in his stomach, crawled over his skin. He did not feel it now. Rather, he looked up at the man across the room, imagined what his eyes might look like behind those glasses, and met them with a confident quirking of his lips, a soft almost-smile.

The song played. Donghyuck sang the first line, and while Renjun might have been rooting for his failure only a day earlier, he now took satisfaction in Donghyuck’s quick finding of the pitch and the steadiness of his voice. There was no point in resentfulness, because if nothing else, for this one moment, Donghyuck’s success was his success. And seeing Donghyuck do well only made him want to do better.

When Jeno took the center, Renjun noticed the way the spectacled man raised his chin slightly, tilting back in a look of contemplation. That was the type of reaction Jeno always drew. His dancing tugged for attention. It provoked something.

And when Renjun sang his high note at the bridge, he felt his almost-smile become the real thing with the realization that he had hit it, his voice resounding through the room. He didn’t hide his joy at the achievement. He hoped that whatever boys had ruined their things were watching him now and fuming with frustration.

The music faded. They all stood in their ending positions, breathing heavy. The man clapped as he did for every group, but Renjun noticed that for them, he offered a subtle, barely-there nod. Then, he walked over to the instructor, whispered a word in his ear, and left.

The first thing to happen next was Jaemin just about tackling Renjun off his feet, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him into the air. “You did so good, Injunnie!”

“I appreciate it, but please put me down.”

Jaemin obliged with a shy grin.

“I think it went well,” Mark said. “Did you see? He seemed impressed by it.”

“Who was that guy, anyway?” Renjun asked. “A manager or something?”

Jeno laughed and gave Renjun a playful punch on the arm. “What do you mean, _a manager?_ That was the CEO.”

Renjun’s jaw dropped. _“What?”_

“You can’t really be that dumb,” Donghyuck said incredulously. “You don’t even know what the CEO looks like? His face is right on CZN's website.”

“Well, I guess I never saw it.” Renjun’s heart began to thud, fast and heavy. Had he known beforehand, would he have been too nervous to dance properly? It was another stroke of luck. 

Renjun wondered when his luck would run out.

\---

There was a sudden change in schedule. Two days after their performance, the five of them were brought not to a training room but to a room with mirrors and drawers. Renjun was immediately whisked away by a woman with purple eyeshadow who chewed minty gum. She pushed him into a chair, then began to rummage on the table for her supplies.

“What are we doing?” Renjun asked.

Mark, seeming less surprised by the whole ordeal than Renjun, sat down in the chair at the next station. “Taking headshots. It’s so they can test what you look like all dressed up. To see what you’d look like as an idol.”

“Too see if he’s too ugly to debut, you mean,” Donghyuck called from across the room.

“Yes, Donghyuck, thank you,” Mark replied flatly.

Renjun had never had his makeup done. But even before that, the woman bent his chair back and began an all-too-invasive examination of his face, which included taking to his eyebrows with a pair of tweezers and jerking his head around any way she saw fit. Then she began to slather on a thick layer of foundation, several shades too light for his skin tone, with a sponge. He didn’t like the way it felt, heavy like a mask.

When she was finally satisfied with her work, another woman came over to fix his hair, pushing it up slightly from his face, arranging every strand just so. Then she showered him in a mist of hairspray that made him cough like crazy.

She spun him around in his chair to face the mirror.

He did not look like himself. His skin was flat, flawless, the pesky pimple on his chin completely disappeared. His eyes were made larger, their corners softened with a pinkish shadow that matched the tint applied to his lips.

Behind him, Jaemin approached, also dolled up, though it suited him, highlighting his already-handsome face. “Whoa, Injun. You look awesome.”

“I look weird.”

“What do you mean? You look super great. For real.”

“I don’t know.” Renjun couldn't find the right words to describe the strange, out-of-place feeling that nagged at him. “I just don’t look right.”

Jeno came up next, squeezing in beside Jaemin, his reflection hovering over Renjun’s shoulder. Like Jaemin, the makeup did him well, dark liner enhancing his sharp, steady gaze. Normally, Renjun might have been distracted by the fine features of Jeno’s face, but in that moment he was too absorbed in his own appearance.

“You look good, Renjun,” Jeno said. “Like an idol.”

Renjun said nothing else, only continued to stare at his reflection. He shook his head, testing to make sure his reflection moved with him. It did, of course. But still, the boy in the mirror felt like a complete stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> petition for lee jeno to keep his shirt on
> 
> in case anyone is wondering "why no chenji in this fic," i only wanted to include members who are not minors, considering this fic's content. but maybe they'll get a cameo later on, who knows :)
> 
> anyhow, ty all for reading!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	7. Chapter 7

Renjun bent over the bathroom sink, scrubbing the makeup from his face. He refused to leave the company building with it on. Looking up into the mirror, water droplets still clinging to his skin and eyeliner smeared, he was beginning to look like himself again.

“Are you okay?”

He found Jeno’s silhouette in the reflection, standing half inside the door.

“What do you mean? Of course I’m okay,” he responded. He tugged a piece of paper towel from the dispenser and began to pat his forehead dry.

“Was it what Jaemin and I said?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How we said you looked good. Like an idol. We didn’t mean to say that you don’t _usually_ look good.”

Taken aback, Renjun turned away from Jeno’s reflection and found his real face. He still wore his makeup, eyes darkly ringed, skin porcelain white. Under the harsh bathroom lights, he seemed surreal.

“I didn’t interpret it that way,” Renjun said, “so don’t worry about it.”

“I think you look good without makeup, too.”

There was a too-long beat of silence.

“Okay. I mean, thanks.”

Jeno’s fingers tapped against the doorframe, an awkward patter. “We’ll meet you at the studio, then.”

“Okay.”

Jeno walked away.

Renjun still watched the empty doorway long after he was gone.

\---

They sat around a long table in a room with glass walls. The five trainees sat on one side, and opposite them were three strangers. One was a woman in a chocolate brown blazer and pencil skirt who kept taking tiny sips from her iced americano and smacking her lips. The other two were men, one in an expensive-looking suit, the other still wearing his windbreaker, hands stuffed in the pockets.

The woman had introduced herself as an image coach, which Renjun didn’t know was something that existed. The men did not introduce themselves at all. Renjun assumed they were management staff or company higher-ups, because they kept stroking their chins and saying “hmm” whenever the woman spoke.

Behind them was a TV, where the woman pulled up the photos they had taken the other day. She went through them slowly, offering comments all the while: “Very strong photo, Jeno, you seem to have a very mature image -- Mark, you photograph very well, this angle suits your face --”

When Renjun’s photos came up, he cringed. He already looked young for his age, but even more so with the makeup. He wasn’t even looking into the lens, only somewhere off into the distance.

The woman stared at the photos, face momentarily blank. Then she said, “Well. You seem a little frightened here. Shy, maybe?”

Renjun began chewing his nails.

The woman looked down at her notepad, shuffling through it. “That’s not a bad thing, I suppose. It says here that the company would like to pursue a ‘pure’ image for you.”

“Pure?”

“As in, innocent. Youthful.” She looked back up at the TV. “You’re quite baby-faced. It would probably be a good idea to play that up. Do you think that would fit you?”

Renjun had never really thought of himself as pure. It sounded like how someone might describe a small child.

Jeno raised his hand down the line. “I can attest to the fact that Renjun is, indeed, very pure.”

Renjun gave Jeno a hard stare. _I should never have told him I'm a virgin._ Jeno only offered a playful smile in response.

“Pure, my ass,” Donghyuck hissed.

Renjun kicked him under the table.

“I can try it,” Renjun said. He thought back to the false smiles he used to flash in the hallways of his old school. The ones he’d modeled after Sicheng’s. “I don’t really know if I’m ‘pure,’ but I’m a decent actor.”

The woman wrote something in her notes before moving on.

After the meeting was over, they went outside to wait for their cars. It was the middle of summer now, the sky so blue it seemed almost oppressive. Jaemin sat down on the curb, cradling a bottle of Coke in his hands. “You really think they’re going to debut us?” he asked.

“Looks like it,” Jeno said.

“It doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream still.”

“Well, you and Renjun have only been training for a few months. For the rest of us, it seems like it’s about time.”

Renjun had not thought of this. He’d been at the company only six months, and Jaemin even less, while the other three had each been there for over two years. He didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t feel more talented or more prepared than the other trainees. Especially after seeing his photos today -- he still felt a bit like an amateur. But he wouldn’t let anyone else know that.

He looked up to where Donghyuck stood, leaning against a column. The boy’s mouth was poutier than usual.

“What’s wrong? Got something to say about it?” Renjun asked.

Donghyuck eyed him warily and answered, “I don’t know. I’m just thinking about the other trainees who have been here for years. It’s not fair that a couple of newbies get to debut before them.”

“It’s not about fairness,” Jeno said. “That’s not how it works in this industry.”

Donghyuck crossed his arms. “Just think. There are some people who have been here longer than Mark, even. What if they never get to debut?”

“Then it sucks to be them,” Jeno said. “We shouldn’t be worrying about that. We should be glad that the five of us got this far.”

“I get what Donghyuck is saying.” Mark tapped his foot against the asphalt impatiently. “I guess I just don’t get how they decide who gets to debut. You know?”

“Are you saying Injun and I don’t deserve it?” Jaemin asked, though not accusingly; he only seemed genuinely hurt.

“I’m not saying that,” Mark said quickly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Renjun put his arm around Jaemin’s shoulders. “Even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. We’re going to debut, and that’s that.”

Renjun did not know if he was saying it to ease Jaemin’s feelings, or his own.

\---

The five of them no longer practiced with the other trainees. Their new instructor, a woman with choppy bangs and green streaks in her hair (who Renjun much preferred to their old instructor), told them it was to “improve team synergy.” Renjun, however, was skeptical that being shut in a studio with Donghyuck for five hours a day, seven days a week would somehow make the other boy more bearable to work with.

One day, the instructor began practice by putting a CD in the stereo. The song that played was one Renjun had never heard, something poppy and sweet but with a strong beat underneath, easily danceable.

“This,” the instructor said, “is the demo for your song.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “A demo? So that means we’re set to debut? For real?”

With an apologetic smile, she answered, “Possibly. We have to test the concept and see how you all fit in with it. But if things go well, you’ll be debuting before the end of the year.”

Renjun’s jaw dropped. They’d all suspected it, but having solid proof, hearing the track they would debut with, was still a shock to him. It was only December when he had auditioned, and now, in July, he was preparing to properly be an idol. He wondered what Sicheng would think if he knew. He wondered if he would be righteously angry, or proud of his old friend.

Jaemin let out a victory shout and began to pull the rest of them into a group hug. Renjun found, surprisingly, that he could not be angry about his members. Even if he wasn’t close with most of them, there must have been some magic to this dynamic. And he was glad that Jaemin, his closest friend, would be there with him.

Still pressed tightly together, he became aware of Jeno’s arm circling his waist. He could not properly place why, but he was glad that Jeno would be there, too.

\---

Their title track would be called “Dance With Me.” They began working on the choreography, which was possibly the hardest routine they’d been asked to learn yet; the instructor said CZN wanted their debut to be a statement piece, and it certainly was that. There was even a part where Renjun was thrown into the air (when Renjun asked why it had to be _him_, Donghyuck responded, “Clearly, because you’re the puniest.”) Renjun went back to the dorms every evening completely sore.

And so, when dance practice was cancelled one day in preference of a video shoot of some kind, Renjun was relieved. They were shuffled into a large room on the company building’s fifth floor, one whose far wall was all windows, looking down onto the busy Seoul street. The manager brought them to some couches, where they met five girls who seemed to be around their same age.

“These are our up-and-coming female trainees,” the manager said. “CZN has plans to debut a girl group in the first half of next year, and these five are our current slated line up. Today, to promote both your groups, we’re going to be shooting a promotional video together.” He took his phone from his pocket and glanced at the time. “We’ll begin hair and make-up in fifteen minutes. For now, get acquainted with one another.”

The girls stood and bowed. A couple of them were girls Renjun had seen around school, though he had never spoken to them. Jeno, evidently, had, as he already knew all of their names, and when he gave one of them a warm, familiar smile, she hid a small laugh behind her hand.

Once they’d been whisked away to the dressing room, Renjun began to prepare himself again for the uncomfortable feeling of seeing himself made up. Donghyuck, who sat beside him, at one point leaned over the arm of his chair and said quietly to Renjun, “Pretty goddamn girls, aren’t they?”

Renjun shut his eyes while the makeup artist patted powder over his eyelids. “I guess so.”

“Especially that one. The one with the bangs. What was her name? Eunyoung? Eunjung?”

“You’ve already forgotten it?”

“I only just met her.” Donghyuck huffed and sat back in his chair. “Wish I was Jeno. All he has to do is look at them, and they’re practically right in his lap.”

“At least he knows their names.”

“Shut up.”

The makeup artist moved onto Renjun’s lips, painting them in pale pink. Renjun wondered if Jeno had ever dated any of those girls, ever kissed them. The last person Renjun had kissed was Sicheng. As he recalled that moment, he felt a shiver crawl down his spine. That kiss no longer seemed a warm memory. He could only remember how cold Sicheng’s lips had felt in the December air.

Renjun wondered, ever so briefly, what kissing Jeno might be like.

He blushed, and was suddenly glad for the makeup to cover it up.

When he was finished in the dressing room, he was led back out to where a white backdrop had been set up. One of the girls was out there waiting, he hair having been curled into waves and her eyelashes darkened with mascara. She gave him a slight bow as he approached, bashful.

They’d been given a short script to read, displayed before them on cue cards. Renjun tried to keep in mind the entire time that he was meant to be “pure,” which he still wasn’t entirely sure he knew the meaning of. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the way the girl acted, hands folded demurely in front of her, expression mild and unassuming, and wondered if all girl trainees were meant to act “pure.” He tried to imitate her demeanor, combining it with the most convincing smile he could muster.

Jeno was next. His girl was almost impossibly pretty. Renjun watched from the side of the shoot as Jeno leaned in and whispered something to her, and she giggled in response. Renjun desperately wanted to know what Jeno had said that was so funny.

Mark took his turn. Jeno joined Renjun.

“Did it look like mine went okay?” Jeno asked.

“Yes, Jeno,” Renjun responded dryly. “You two had a lot of chemistry. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Jeno rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. She didn’t seem to be into me. She practically ran away once we’d finished.”

“I wasn’t worried about it,” Renjun snapped, defensive.

Jeno raised a brow. “Sure.”

At the end of the shoot, each group went up individually. Renjun stood between Jeno and Jaemin, forcing another grin for the camera.

Jeno’s hand found Renjun’s shoulder. _You’re fun to fluster,_ Renjun remembered him saying.

He shrugged off Jeno’s touch.

\---

They found out a week later that they were being moved into a new dorm. Renjun packed his stuff that morning (it only took a few minutes -- he didn’t own much), and he and Mark were driven from their old dorm to a building about ten minutes away, slightly further from the company building but seemingly much nicer and closed to the street by a large gate.

When they came to their apartment on the sixth floor, the other three were already there, sitting in waiting on the couch. Beyond the living room was a kitchen which bled into a dining room beside it, and the dining room had a glass door that opened onto a balcony. To the right was a hallway, which Renjun guessed led to the bedrooms and bathroom.

From that hallway came a man Renjun had never met, of whom his first impression was, _this may be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen._

“Oh, good, you two are here.” The man came forward into the living room, bowing to Renjun and Mark before handing them their keys. “I’m Lee Taeyong. I’ll be your overseeing manager from now on. I live across the hall.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mark said. Renjun was still slightly speechless. He wondered how a man like Taeyong ended up as a manager and not an idol or a model.

“So the first order of business,” Taeyong began, “is choosing roommates. There are three rooms, one single and two doubles. Since Mark is the oldest, it seems fair that he should have the single. So, the rest of you should pair up.”

Faster than Renjun could even think, Jeno had linked arms with Jaemin.

He looked at Donghyuck, stomach dropping.

“So, this is it then,” Taeyong announced. “Jeno and Jaemin, Donghyuck and Renjun.”

“Absolutely not,” Renjun said.

“Hey.” Donghyuck stomped his foot. “I’m not happy about it, either, but --”

“I refuse,” Renjun said.

The room filled with awkward silence. They all stared down at the floor.

“If it’s gonna be a problem,” Jaemin offered, “I can room with someone else. I don’t want you two to be fighting all the time.”

Jeno shook his head. “That’s not fair. You don’t have to change roommates just because these two can’t stop bickering.”

“_I_ can stop bickering.” Donghyuck pointed a finger at Renjun. “He’s the one who always starts it. I didn’t complain about the pairings.”

Renjun bit his lip. He didn’t want to ruin things for everyone else, but he knew he and Donghyuck rooming together would be a recipe for disaster. “I really think we should switch up pairs.”

Taeyong sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Well -- let’s see --”

“I’ll room with Donghyuck,” Mark said.

“But you’re supposed to have the single,” Jeno objected.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing a room.” Mark gave Renjun a cold stare. “He can have the single. Does that solve it?”

“Are you sure?” Taeyong asked.

“Yeah. Let’s just unpack and forget this whole thing.”

“Alright then.”

Mark dragged his suitcase down the hall.

The other four followed, very slowly.

Renjun’s room was across the hallway from the others, which meant he would not have to share a wall with Mark and Donghyuck and listen to them play video games all night. He could not feel all that happy about it, however, because his face was still flushed with shame.

He did not unpack, but curled on his new bed, face pressed into the pillow.

A little while later, Jaemin appeared in his doorway, and said in a too-bright voice, “Whew. So this is the single, huh?” He crossed to Renjun’s window and peered outside. “You know, I’ve never lived away from home before. Honestly, it’s only a matter of time before I’m homesick. Do you ever get homesick, Injun?”

Renjun, voice muffled, responded, “You don’t have to dodge the elephant in the room, Jaemin.” He let out a long sigh. “How is it that I always end up a social pariah?”

Jaemin settled on the edge of Renjun’s bed. “You’re not a pariah.”

“I am.” Renjun hoped that Jaemin could not tell from his voice that he was close to tears.

“You’re not. You’re just… uncompromising.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“That isn’t always a bad thing.”

“I feel sorry for Mark,” Renjun admitted.

“But you wouldn’t swap back with him, would you?” Jaemin said carefully.

Renjun knew Jaemin was right. He felt sick at his own stubbornness.

“Jaemin,” he said, “would you do me the honor of smothering me to death with this pillow?”

“Not a chance, Injun. We’d have to completely change the choreography if you bit it.” Jaemin reached out, and ran his fingers comfortingly through Renjun’s hair.

Renjun remembered his mother having done the exact same thing, and found that he did, in fact, feel terribly homesick.

\---

Renjun could not sleep that night. He lay in bed for several hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking about home and the future and where he stood within his group. He wished it wasn’t so hard to understand other people. He wanted to understand why Jaemin was so good to him when he could be so difficult, and why Mark had given up his room, and why Donghyuck and him could never have a conversation without it becoming nasty, and why Jeno --

Well, if only Renjun could understand even just one thing about Lee Jeno. Anything.

Anxiety clawed at him until, finally, he got up and went into the living room. He did not switch the lights on, only settled on the couch and turned on the TV, volume muted. He stared at the screen, but was not really watching it.

“Can’t sleep?”

He turned and saw Jeno, standing at the end of the hall behind him. Renjun looked away and folded himself smaller, drawing his legs up onto his couch cushion.

Jeno came around and sat down at the other end. “Why? Too quiet for comfort in your single?”

“Please don’t tease me.”

The small smirk that had been on Jeno’s face fell away.

“Why are _you_ up?” Renjun asked.

“Jaemin won’t stop snoring. I threw a pillow at him but he slept through it.”

On TV, there was a drama playing. The lead actor looked to be the idol type, a young man with perfect skin and pierced ears. He was holding the actress’s face in his hands, begging her to run away with him.

“Jeno,” Renjun said. “Why did you audition at CZN?”

Surprised at the forwardness of the question, Jeno studied Renjun for a moment before answering, “I was scouted. A man hailed me on the street and told me to.”

_Of course he was scouted,_ Renjun thought. _He hadn’t planned on being an idol at all._ But then again, Renjun had only auditioned on a whim -- perhaps they were more similar than he had thought.

“He saw your pretty face and thought he had to have it?” Renjun said lightly.

“He _recognized_ my pretty face, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to act, when I was little. In commercials and stuff. And bit parts on dramas.” Jeno looked at the TV, and Renjun could tell that he was not really watching, either. “You wouldn’t have seen it in China, but my face was plastered everywhere over here.”

“Oh.” Renjun, of course, had not known this, but it made sense. Jeno’s face could probably have sold anything, even as a child. “Did you always want to be famous, then?”

“It was my parents’ idea more than anything,” Jeno said. “And when they heard that I could become an idol, they were so excited. It was their dream come true.” He gave a soft whisper of a laugh, which sounded rather sad to Renjun.

“Then you didn’t want to be an idol?”

Jeno’s eyes snapped from the TV to Renjun’s face. “Don’t get me wrong. Being an idol is the only job I could ever have. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is,” Jeno said. “I know this industry inside and out. Ever since I was little. I was practically born for it.”

Renjun blinked.

He wanted to know more. He wanted Jeno to tell him everything. He wanted to know Jeno inside and out, the same way Jeno knew fame inside and out.

As if he’d read Renjun’s mind, Jeno said, “That’s enough of your interrogation. We’ll save the rest for another time. To keep up the suspense.” He stood and made his way back to the hall’s end, then looked back and added, “I’m good company on sleepless nights.”

He disappeared back to his bedroom.

_Sleepless nights._

Renjun, face hot, breathless at the implication, turned back to the TV.

The actor leaned in, and kissed the girl on the lips.

\---

The next morning, they were driven to the company building. In the same room where the image coach had critiqued their photos, a row of men were seated around the table. The five boys took their places and exchanged looks with one another, sensing a strange feeling in the air. Taeyong stood against the wall, eyes darting around, seeming equally curious.

One of the men made an attention-calling cough, then hit a button on his laptop. On the TV screen appeared a logo in curly, whimsical font.

_Dreamchaser._

“That’s you,” the man said.

They were all silent for a few seconds.

“That’s our name?” Mark asked.

“Yes. That’s your name.”

“Dreamchaser,” Jeno read, testing the feeling of the name on his tongue.

“I like it,” Jaemin said.

The man tapped the button again, onto a slide filled with words. “Here’s some finalized information regarding your group and debut schedule. Firstly, we’ve decided that Mark will be the group leader. He’s the oldest, and Taeyong has also suggested that he take the role based on his team mediation skills.”

_He must have told them about the rooming fiasco,_ Renjun thought. He sunk down slightly into his chair.

“Next week will be voice recording. The week after, teaser and album book shooting. Two weeks after that, music video shooting. The release date is set for August 24th.”

August. It seemed so close. Less than two months, and Renjun would be on television, on the internet. People from all over would know his name.

He thought of his mother. He hoped, wherever she was, she would be watching.

\---

When they exited the meeting, the other four got in the car to return to the dorm.

“Not you,” Taeyong said, extending an arm to stop Renjun.

“What?”

“You have another appointment.”

\---

Renjun walked back into the dorm cradling his jaw in his hand.

“I got you ice cream,” Jaemin called from the kitchen.

“You knew?”

“Taeyong texted me after we left. I stopped at a store.”

Renjun flopped down onto the couch. Having the braces put on was bearable at first, more discomfort than pain as the man poked around inside his mouth. About fifteen minutes after, however, Renjun’s teeth were aching worse than ever before. He could practically feel them shifting around in his mouth.

Jaemin handed him a bowl. “I got my braces in middle school. They’re shitty, but it pays off.”

“Thank you.” Renjun took a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. The coolness was surprisingly pleasant, numbing the pain.

“Anything for Injunnie,” Jaemin responded, sitting down beside him and leaning his head on Renjun’s shoulder.

Renjun remembered what his uncle had said about his teeth.

_That woman must not have seen you smile at the audition. One look at your teeth, and you would have been rejected on the spot._

He felt both pride and defeat. Pride, because he was overcoming his uncle’s venom. Defeat, because he had to change himself to do so.

He wondered if, the next time he looked in the mirror, he would still be recognizable. Unlike the makeup, this was something he could not wash away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a summary --
> 
> jeno: _blatantly flirts with renjun for an entire chapter_  
renjun: is he into me????? i can't tell???? 
> 
> anyways, i'd like to thank everyone who has left comments, kudos, and bookmarks on this fic so far!! i love reading your reactions!! hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	8. Chapter 8

Renjun held their album in his hands.

He traced their name with his thumb. _Dreamchaser_. Below that, it listed each of them individually, and there, between _Mark_ and _Jeno_, was _Renjun_. And then, below that, was a photo of the five of them, all lined up together, smiles on their faces.

It still didn’t feel real.

“This is the finalized version for the album release,” the man who stood in front of them said. “We wanted you to see it before it’s put on sale.”

“Wow.” Donghyuck, at Renjun’s left, was equally mesmerized. He flipped the album open and began to thumb through the photobook. Renjun did the same. They’d had their shoot just over a week ago. Prior, he’d had his hair dyed to a dark brown and cut to be choppy and short. Then he’d been forced to shave his legs (extremely tricky, as he’d never used a razor before and subsequently nicked himself about five times) so the stylists could dress him in what were probably the shortest shorts he had ever worn.

He’d suspected he was meant to look like a schoolboy, which was not any comfort.

“Look at you, all dolled up,” Jaemin had said. “How do you feel?”

“Fully exposed,” he’d responded.

For the rest of the shoot, he’d kept self-consciously adjusting the pant legs, wondering what about it was supposed to be “pure.”

Presently, he flipped to a page with Jeno’s photo. The others had not been forced into shorts -- Jeno wore a denim jacket and white tee, his hair pushed back from his face to give the impression that he’d just lazily but majestically ran his hand through it. The sort of thing a teenage girl would swoon over.

Renjun knew he should not be charmed by it, but he found himself staring at the image for a long time.

He flipped the page.

It was him and Jeno.

He recalled standing in front of the camera. He had been suddenly nervous, standing beside Jeno, trying to look friendly for the photo. As if he had been able to sense Renjun’s awkwardness, Jeno had slipped his arm around his waist, pulling him in closer, leaning their heads together. Renjun had become self-conscious again, but not because of his outfit -- he’d been afraid that Jeno might be able to feel the way his heart thundered in his chest, every nerve in his body alight at the intimacy.

In the shot that had made it into the photobook, Renjun’s eyes were shut.

He looked down the table at Jeno. The other boy was staring down at the album, face unreadable. He turned it over in his hands. His mouth was a straight line.

“Can we keep these?” Mark asked, unable to hide the sentimentality in his voice.

“Sure,” the man said. “You’ve earned them.”

Renjun closed his album, and hugged it to his chest.

\---

That night, they stayed in. Mark bought chicken to celebrate, though really they’d been celebrating almost every night for the past few weeks over each milestone -- their album being recorded, the music video shot, the first teaser released.

“Injunnie,” Jaemin called from the other end of the couch, chicken grease smeared at the corner of his mouth. “Your teaser comes out tonight. Are you excited?”

“I guess so.” He’d been anxious about it, really. He was afraid of what people might say. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter.

“Mark’s went over good yesterday,” Jaemin continued. “I was looking at the comments. They said he was cute.”

Donghyuck smirked and leaned forward, pinching Mark’s cheek between his fingers. “Aww. You hear that Mark? They think you’re cute.”

“Quit it,” Mark said, squirming away.

Donghyuck produced an evil laugh. “Injun, on the other hand -- decidedly un-cute.”

“What did you just call me?” Renjun asked.

“Un-cute?”

“Before that.”

“Injun?”

“Only Jaemin is allowed to call me that.”

“But it’s easier to pronounce.”

Renjun shrugged. “You have to earn Injun privileges. Until then, keep struggling.”

Jaemin, flattered, caught Renjun in the crook of his elbow and smooched him on the top of the head.

Once they finished eating, Renjun stood. “I’m going to bed,” he announced.

“Don’t you wanna stay up?” Jaemin asked. “We were gonna stay up till midnight so we could see your teaser together.”

“No. That’s okay. I’m tired, so…”

“Alright, then. See you in the morning.”

Renjun took a quick shower before burying himself beneath his blankets.

He did not fall asleep. It had been like that a lot lately, lying in bed only to toss and turn and watch his alarm clock. Outside his door, he heard as the other members retired to their rooms -- of course, without him, they didn’t bother to stay up for his teaser. He didn’t blame them.

At some point, he turned his head to see his alarm clock display “12:07.”

Curiosity pricked at him. He grabbed his phone and opened the web browser.

A news forum displayed his teaser image, and his company profile below it. He was in those awful shorts again, and his face pale with powder. His name was written around it in bubble letters.

He scrolled down further, to the comments section. The highest-rated comments were displayed at the top.

_ [+344, -24] So cute!!!! I’m so excited for Dreamchaser’s debut… all the members are adorable_

_[+269, -22] A member from China… but it says he speaks Korean fluently… he’s very talented for only 16~_

_[+190, -5] All the members are so young TT They make me feel old. Renjun reminds me of my little brother… I hope he does well_

He let out a breath. It felt good to be recognized. It felt good to read compliments from people who had never met him, had never even heard him speak.

Against his better judgement, he kept scrolling. The further down he went, the lower the rating of the comments. He went all the way to the bottom.

_[+2, -66] is it weird that i find him cute, even though he’s half my age? ㅋㅋㅋ he’ll be sexy when he’s a little older_

_[+4, -102] go back to china_

_[+1, - 280] is it just me, or is he not handsome enough to be an idol? CZN should have waited to debut him until he was old enough to get plastic surgery…_

Renjun turned off his phone screen.

He felt sick to his stomach. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He thought about going and getting Jaemin, but he didn’t want to wake him. Instead, he turned his phone back on and texted Taeyong.

_Are you awake right now?_

_Yes. Do you need something, Renjun?_

_It’s nothing big. Sorry for bothering you._

_You don’t have to lie. Come over._

Renjun got up and put on his sweatshirt.

He knocked on Taeyong’s door, which was right across the hall from their apartment. Taeyong, still dressed in his t-shirt and jeans, stood aside and let him in.

“Is everything okay?” Taeyong asked him.

Renjun settled on the arm of the couch, tugging at the ends of his sleeves. “I just couldn’t sleep, is all.”

“Nervous?”

“Kind of.”

“You didn't want to talk to your bandmates about it?” Taeyong said gently.

“Well… I didn’t want to annoy them. Especially since I’m just acting silly. Getting upset over nothing.”

“Cleary, it’s not nothing.” Taeyong sat down in the armchair adjacent to him. “Are you not close with the rest of them?”

Renjun quickly shook his head. In some ways, it was true, but he didn’t want to worry Taeyong about it. “I just feel like… it’s hard to talk to them about stuff, sometimes. Like, they’re too close to it. Sometimes it’s good to talk to people who are going through the same stuff as you are, but sometimes it’s not. Like they’ll think it’s weird if you don’t handle it the same way they do.”

Taeyong rested his cheek on his palm. “So I’m better to talk to, because I’m not as ‘close to it?’”

Renjun nodded.

“You know,” Taeyong said. “I used to be a trainee.”

Renjun blinked in surprise. “You did?”

“I did. I started training at CZN when I was thirteen.”

“I didn’t realize…”

Taeyong smiled. “I know. I never told any of you.”

It suddenly made sense to Renjun how he’d been captivated by Taeyong’s face when they’d first met.

“Did you quit?” he asked.

“No. I…” Taeyong sunk back slightly into the chair, folding his arms in his lap. He seemed to be studying the backs of his hands. “When I was seventeen, I injured myself during practice. Twisted my knee strangely. The doctor said that if I kept dancing, I might permanently ruin my knee. Then, I would have to walk in a brace for the rest of my life.”

“Oh.” Renjun looked away. “I see. Then that’s why you left.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t leave. I kept dancing.” Taeyong laughed bitterly to himself. “That’s when I fucked my knee up the second time. Learning the choreo for the song I was meant to debut with. Have you never noticed that I walk with a stagger?”

“I -- I guess I didn’t realize.”

Taeyong bent over and pulled up his pant leg, exposing the hard black buckles of his brace. “I couldn’t dance after that. CZN pulled me from the lineup. Looking back now, I wish I’d stopped when the doctor told me to the first time. Would’ve saved myself a lot of pain. And a lot of heartache.” He replaced his pant leg. “CZN felt pretty terrible about the whole thing. They told me they would help if they could. So I came back once I was old enough, and asked to join their management team.”

“You didn’t want to become a model or something?” Renjun asked. “Not to sound judgmental or anything… I only mean that you would probably be good at it. It seems better than being a manager.”

Taeyong shrugged. “I thought about it. But my dream had been to be an idol. So if I couldn’t do it myself, I wanted to help other people to achieve it.”

Renjun thought that Taeyong was terribly unselfish. That was a good thing, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little saddened by the whole story. And a little guilty.

“Does that make me a bad confidant?” Taeyong asked, grinning. “Having gone through the same stuff you have? Being too close to it?”

“No,” Renjun replied. “You’re good to talk to.”

He let out a yawn. Taeyong stood and walked back to the door, opening it. “You should go back to bed now. It’s awfully late.”

“Yeah.” Renjun shuffled after him. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Before Renjun left, a thought occurred to him. “Taeyong. You said you were going to debut.”

“Yeah.”

“What group was it?”

Taeyong leaned against the open door, and said, “Superstar.”

Renjun found himself in awe. In a different universe, Taeyong’s face might have been plastered on Sicheng’s wall.

“Goodnight, Renjun,” Taeyong said.

“Goodnight.”

\---

The hallway was filled with faces. Faces of boys and girls with glitter on their eyelids and mousse in their hair. Some of them sipped on water bottles. Some stared at the floor as if counting the tiles. Some were moving their lips, reciting lyrics under their breaths.

Renjun was shuffled past them and into the dressing room on his right. On the door, it said, “Dreamchaser.”

It was the day of their debut stage. Renjun had chewed his nails the entire car ride there. Taeyong, sitting beside him, had had to physically remove his fingers from his mouth (“We can’t send a boy onstage with visibly gnawed-up fingertips”). Renjun had kept chewing them anyway. Taeyong had let out a long sigh in response, but allowed it.

As he sat down to have his makeup done, he glanced around at his members. Jaemin was beside him, eyes shut as the makeup artist applied foundation. His face was serene, but his fingers kept twitching in his lap, as if an electric current was passing through them. Renjun studied the bones of the other boy’s hands, tensed and visible beneath his skin.

Donghyuck was not his usual self. He was pacing back and forth through the room, scratching his head, rubbing his chin. When he caught Renjun looking, he wrinkled his nose, then went to sit down, embarrassed at being caught looking nervous.

Mark sat with his elbows propped on the table as if he was praying. One of his feet kept tapping on the bar of his chair, a fast-moving metronome that tapped against Renjun’s brain, almost like the ticking of a clock.

Jeno stood against the wall. He did not move, and he did not look at anyone else.

The woman who had been applying Renjun’s eyeliner moved away. He looked in the mirror. He only knew it to be himself because he recognized the painful way he was biting his lip. He remembered how it was when Jeno had put a hand on his waist, making his heart beat faster. This was like that, only a hundred times worse. He thought he might throw up.

A man entered the room, carrying small boxes that contained their in-ear monitors and microphones. Once Renjun dressed (in those godforsaken shorts again), he walked over and allowed the man to set him up, threading the wire behind his ears.

“You’ll be on in ten,” he told them.

Renjun desperately wanted to scream. I’ll do fine, he told himself, but he didn’t truly believe it. If he slipped up on stage, everyone would see it. If his voice cracked, everyone would hear it. In school, he always avoided others’ gazes, tried his best to blend in. What did he think he would gain from standing on a stage? He wasn’t meant to be in the spotlight. It was the thing he was most terrified of.

He wondered why he had become an idol. There had been a reason, but he could not remember it.

Another man walked into the room. This one was fifty-something, finely dressed in a deep purple blazer with black lapels and a black bow tie. He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Taeyong noticed him and bowed deeply. “Everyone,” he said, calling their attention with a wave of his hand. “This is Lee Hyunsoo. He’s one of the show’s producers.”

Lee Hyunsoo bowed back in response. “Well, well. This must be Dreamchaser. I’ve heard great things. We’re always excited to showcase a new CZN group on MBC. We consider your company one of our greatest friends and sponsors.”

Ah. So CZN had their hand in it. Renjun knew that it was a big company, though he hadn’t known how deeply their financial ties with other entities had run.

“Put an a good show for us, boys,” Hyunsoo continued. “And I hope we can work together for a long time.”

The Dreamchaser members all bowed and thanked him. He put a hand on Mark’s shoulder and stepped away to talk one-on-one. The rest turned back to their stations, getting their final touch ups.

A few minutes later, “Renjun, I’m assuming?”

He turned. Hyunsoo had made his way over to him last, to offer his personal well-wishes. “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you? All the way from China?”

“Yes.”

“Are you excited to perform?”

_I’m so nervous I could die._ “Yes. Very excited.”

“Well, good, good. Can’t wait to see you out there.” He reached around, as if to give Renjun a supportive pat on the back.

His hand landed lower. Much lower.

Renjun froze.

Hyunsoo walked away, out the dressing room door.

“Did you hear?” Jaemin came up, shaking Renjun’s arm. “We’re up next! We have to go line up.”

“What?” Renjun snapped out of his haze. _I must have just imagined it,_ he told himself.

“Are you okay?” Jaemin asked, voice high with concern. “You look like you’re about to be sick. Is something wrong?”

“I’m just anxious,” Renjun answered.

Jaemin took his hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine. I’ll be onstage with you. Okay?”

Renjun tried to find comfort in Jaemin’s words, but it was like he could barely hear them.

“Okay.”

\---

When they walked out beneath the lights, the crowd erupted in cheers, even before they could take their proper starting positions. The sound of it was so loud, Renjun jumped. A couple of the audience members nearer the stage seemed to notice this, and giggled at him.

He swallowed and closed his eyes, letting the noise wash over him.

“Huang Renjun!” came a voice from somewhere in the crowd.

And then a chorus.

“Huang Renjun!”

“Injun_-ah!”_

“Renjun! I love you!”

The sound of it stole the breath right out of him, bullet-sharp. It was like being born again.

“Dance With Me” began playing. The fanchant sliced through it, nearly deafening in its enthusiasm. _Dreamchaser. Dreamchaser. Dreamchaser._

There it was. _That_ was why he wanted to be an idol.

He would not be able to remember the performance well later; it was too fleeting. But still, he would call it the happiest moment in his life. There was not much competition.

\---

His own name still rung in his ears.

The five of them stumbled back into the dressing room, drunk on adrenaline. Mark pulled them all together, his face split into a huge grin. “We did it.”

“I couldn’t believe how many fans came,” Jaemin said. “Did you hear them? It’s absolutely unreal.”

Mark placed his hand in the center of the circle. “Everyone. Come on.”

“Aren’t we supposed to do this _before_ we go onstage?” Donghyuck asked.

“Shut up and put your hand in,” Jeno said, though he was too overjoyed to be properly bitter.

Their hands pressed together, then were raised towards the ceiling in a cheer. Renjun had never felt closer to them before. He knew things would never be perfect between all of them, but right then, it didn’t seem to matter. They were exactly where all five of them were meant to be.

Feeling strangely weightless still, Renjun went back to his mirror, collapsing into the chair. He couldn’t stop smiling. He felt so unbelievably good, that he should have known a crash was coming.

It occurred to him that people everywhere were going to see his debut performance. His uncle. His mother. His friends back in Jilin.

Sicheng.

It was like the other boy was tapping him on the shoulder.

_What if we debuted together, Renjun? Wouldn’t that be incredible?_

The memory was loud enough to overshadow his high.

_It was meant to be the two of us._

Renjun had wanted it that way. It wasn’t his fault that things had ended up differently.

_If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have stolen my dream._

Renjun hadn’t meant to steal anything. Couldn’t he have dreams of his own?

_You don’t deserve it._

Renjun suddenly felt that he was about to start bawling. There were already tears dripping down his cheeks, dragging his eyeliner with them.

It wasn’t anger. At least, not for the most part. Instead, he found that he still deeply, terribly missed Sicheng. There was something irreplaceable in what they’d had. When Renjun had left, it was like a piece of him was still there in Wenzhou, a phantom limb that Sicheng held in his hands. And every so often, it felt as if Sicheng was driving a knife through it.

Renjun remembered where he was. Hoping no one had seen him, he quickly stood and walked out of the room.

The hallway was still busy with people who jostled through it, too preoccupied to notice a crying boy. Renjun made it a little ways down, searching for the bathroom, but it was impossible to navigate; instead, he turned into the door nearest to him, another dressing room, which he thankfully found empty. The lights inside were dimmed, and the humming of a fan somewhere muffled the chaos outside. He dropped down into a chair in the far corner, and let out a sob.

He wondered if he could ever begin to feel that he deserved what he had. He wondered if he could ever stop being miserable. He wondered if his heart would ever stop walking in circles.

The door opened. Renjun looked up, quickly trying to mop his tears with his sleeves.

It was Lee Hyunsoo. The man noticed him, and said, “Is something the matter?”

“No. I’m fine,” Renjun answered quickly, his voice still raw from crying.

Hyunsoo crossed the room in a few long strides, then pulled another chair up beside Renjun and sat. “You did fine out there. I saw the performance on the monitors. I’m very pleased with Dreamchaser’s debut.”

"Thank you.”

“You know,” Hyunsoo continued, “I’ve been in the business a long time. I can guarantee you that there’s no better place to be than where you are right now. A fresh face from an important company. Young. Handsome. A million opportunities.”

Renjun knew these words were meant to be consoling, but he shrank back into his chair. The man’s eyes crawled over him like cockroaches. His voice dripped smoothly like wine from the lip of a glass.

“Do you want to be successful, Renjun?”

“I…”

“Because I can help you. All you have to do is ask.”

Hyunsoo placed his hand on Renjun’s bare knee.

Renjun felt his whole body go cold. He wanted to run away, but was afraid to.

Then, the door opened again, and Renjun turned to see Jeno standing there, his eyes wide and lips parted.

Hyunsoo drew back his hand.

Jeno’s eyes narrowed, hiding away his shock, and he marched across the room, grabbing Renjun by the wrist and yanking him from his chair. “We’re going to leave in a minute -- you’ve gotta go change,” he explained quickly, giving Hyunsoo a curt nod and dragging Renjun back into the hall.

Jeno’s grip was vice-like, fingers digging into Renjun’s skin.

“Jeno,” Renjun said.

“I knew there was something weird about that guy,” Jeno muttered.

“Jeno. You’re hurting me.”

Jeno stopped walking and released Renjun’s wrist. Renjun held up his arm, watching as the color returned to the place where it had been pressed white by Jeno’s fingers.

“What were you doing, anyway?” Jeno asked, a little too loudly. “Were you just gonna let him do it?”

Renjun looked around, wary of the staff who passed by them. He pulled Jeno slightly to the side, and answered quietly, “No. I just… didn’t know what to do.”

“He’s a fucking pervert. You should have gotten up and left.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Jeno breathed out through his nose, heavy and audible. Renjun had never seen him angry like this before, not even that time he and Donghyuck had gotten in the fight. Back then, he’d been more disappointed than anything, but now, his jaw was held tight in barely-contained outrage, and his brows were furrowed so deeply a wrinkle formed in between them.

“I’m okay now,” Renjun assured him. “So don’t be mad.”

“I can be mad if I want to. Guys like that…” Jeno trailed off, his eyes darting past Renjun’s shoulder, as if Hyunsoo might appear there at any minute. It was then that Renjun realized that Jeno was not simply angry -- he was scared.

“Are _you_ okay?” Renjun asked.

Jeno’s face softened, and it occurred to Renjun, as though he’d somehow forgotten it, that they were both sixteen, both children still. Jeno seemed suddenly too young. Almost fragile.

“If anything like that ever happens again,” Jeno said, “come and find me.”

“Okay. I will.”

They walked back towards their dressing room, both having gone completely silent.

Renjun felt that he finally understood something about Lee Jeno.

\---

That evening, Renjun received a call from the company.

“Renjun?” the woman said.

“Yes?”

“We received a call from a man claiming to be your uncle today. He said you haven’t contacted him since early this year.”

_He must have seen the music show,_ Renjun thought bitterly. _And now he wants something from his famous nephew._

“Is it alright if we pass along your cell phone number to him?” she asked.

“No. I don’t want him contacting me.”

The woman was quiet for a second. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Alright then. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Renjun hung up.

He began to chew his nails again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potential chapter title: Renjun and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
> 
> SURPRISE!! i wanted to get one more chapter out before my finals start, so here it is! i may not be able to get the next chapter out for a couple of weeks, so i hope this holds you over until then!
> 
> thank you again for reading!! hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	9. Chapter 9

The door to Jeno and Jaemin’s bedroom was open. Renjun watched Jeno for a moment before announcing his presence -- studying the way the light from his phone screen reflected in his hollow eyes, the way his hair rested slightly mussed against his pillow, the way his lips were held with a subtle tension, their corners downturned in dissatisfaction.

“Hey,” Renjun said.

Jeno turned his head. His face changed into its familiar, put-on smirk. “Hey.”

“I didn’t thank you,” Renjun said, “for what you did. At the music show.” It was an uncomfortable moment to recall, and an even more uncomfortable one to discuss, making his cheeks red with shyness. “So, thank you.”

“Well. I had to protect your purity, pure boy.” Jeno’s voice was tinged with an artificial humor, as if he was hiding behind it.

Renjun frowned.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t like being called that.”

“Pure boy?” Jeno sat up on his bed, letting his phone fall into his lap. “But that’s who you are now. The company said so.”

“I know. It just feels strange every time I hear it.”

“Really? I think it might be nice to be the pure boy.”

“You should try it, then.”

Jeno shook his head, and his smirk faltered. “I couldn’t be. There’s nothing pure about me.”

The way he said it, Renjun thought it sounded sad. Self-deprecating.

“Do you wish there was?” Renjun asked.

Jeno stopped trying to look unaffected. Voice with a rough edge, he said, “There’s nothing pure about being an idol, either. So it suits me.”

Renjun felt a prickle along the back of his neck. He remembered what Jeno had told him: _being an idol is the only job I could ever have. _He hadn’t understood it then, but now, seeing Jeno’s pretty face drawn into a dark grimace, it made sudden sense. He was made to be an idol. Maybe he was damned to it.

“Injuninie.” Jaemin’s voice came from right behind Renjun’s ear. The other boy walked past him into his room, carrying a cup of ramen to his desk. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just talking to Jeno.”

“You should talk to me instead,” Jaemin said. “I’m way more interesting.”

Jeno, having fallen back into his typical, good-natured demeanor, tossed a slipper at Jaemin’s head.

“Hey! You almost made me spill ramen on my keyboard. Asshole.”

Renjun slipped away without being noticed.

\---

September came. Dreamchaser continued to promote. Backstage, Renjun always hung close at Jeno’s side. He was not sure if he wanted Jeno to protect him, or if he was trying to protect Jeno.

The nerves of performing did not go away, but neither did the thrill. The thought that so many people knew his name, watched him dance and thought he was perfect, even God-gifted, gave him a fiery rush. Jaemin had said something once, about the power in loving someone you did not know. Renjun believed in that power now, though he could not quite believe he was the one being loved.

They filmed their first interview. It was small scale, just the five of them and a host, no audience present. Renjun feared the camera nearly as much as he feared a crowd, but he knew he had to get used to it, so when it panned to his face, he put on his brightest smile and said, “Hello! I’m Dreamchaser’s pure boy, Renjun.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Donghyuck’s lip twitch in disgust at the stomach-aching sweetness in his voice. Renjun felt no shame, however, because he knew every saccharine word spoken in that studio was part of a disguise. They were all doing it, though some more subtly than others. As if acknowledging that they were playing the same game, Donghyuck responded to the question of, “Which member are you closest with?” by wrapping his arms around Renjun’s shoulders and purring, “Renjunnie, of course. We’re practically soulmates.”

The only one who did not seem to transform in front of the lens was Jaemin, who did not change at all, had never changed since he and Renjun first met -- big smile, gentle humor, completely at ease. When he told the host about his favorite memory as a trainee (which was a nostalgia-soaked recounting of the moment they found out they would be debuting together), Renjun sensed no exaggeration; and when Jaemin met his eye, he saw only an honest affection shining there. Renjun thought that Jaemin, like Jeno, was perfectly suited to be an idol, but in a different sort of way.

After their recording, Donghyuck approached Renjun and jabbed him hard in the arm. “What the hell was that?”

Renjun rubbed his bicep and answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know. The whole pure boy schtick. I’ve never seen someone do such a complete one-eighty.”

“It’s what fans want to see. I’m just doing as the company told me.”

“Well, it was weird.” Donghyuck retrieved his phone from the table where they’d left them before the interview, and leaned against the wall. “Flipping personalities like that -- isn’t that a thing sociopaths do?”

Renjun stepped behind the divider to change out of his interview outfit. “Bullshit. You were doing the exact same thing.”

“Yeah, but --” Renjun couldn’t see Donghyuck’s face, but he could imagine the holier-than-thou tilting of his chin. “It was different when I did it. Not a one-eighty. More like a ninety. Or a seventy or something.”

“You’re not even making any sense,” Renjun said, peeling his sweater off over his head.

“Well. Hopefully you’ve got our fans fooled. Wouldn’t want them to find out that their darling Renjun isn’t as innocent as he seems.”

“Go to hell, Donghyuck.”

The other boy stomped away, the traces of his shadow no longer visible through the divider’s thin screen.

Renjun pulled his t-shirt on, one he’d brought with him from Wenzhou, worn white with a hole near the hem. It made him feel normal again.

Maybe there was something true in what Donghyuck had said. Maybe there was danger in acting like someone else.

\---

A month after their album was released, they sat again in a CZN meeting room. A marketing rep showed them their sales numbers.

“Approximately forty-thousand albums sold in Korea,” he said.

“Is that good?” Mark asked, eyebrows scrunched.

“For a new act, after only a month? I’d say it’s _very _good.” He flipped through the paper packet in his hands. “And that isn’t counting Chinese sales.”

“How many was that?”

“Fifteen thousand.” He peered down the table at Renjun, glasses perched on his nose to expose the slight smile in his eyes. “Largely peddled by your fansite distributors, actually.”

All the other members turned to look at him, too.

“_My _fansites?” Renjun asked.

“Yes. You’re quite popular in China. Makes sense, seeing as you’re Chinese.”

The other members kept staring.

“Fifteen thousand?” Donghyuck said in disbelief.

“Wow.” Jeno leaned his chin on his palm and gave Renjun a smile. “Guess it pays to be the pure boy, after all.”

Renjun forced himself to maintain a cool expression. “I guess… that’s good. Really good.”

The man clicked to the next slide, but Renjun could not focus on whatever it was it said.

At the dorms that night, this fact was not forgotten.

Renjun was eating at the kitchen table when Jaemin slid into the seat next to him. “Well, well, well. Who would’ve thought little Injunnie would be such a big star?” Coming out of Donghyuck’s mouth, those words might have been sharp with sarcasm, but from Jaemin, they were soft, almost awed.

Renjun, embarrassed, lowered his head and took another bite of rice, hoping Jaemin wouldn’t notice the reddening of his ears. “It’s not that impressive.”

“It is, though. I’m proud of you.”

Renjun looked at Jaemin, completely disarmed. Sometimes, he thought Jaemin was too good to be true, but there he was, totally real, and looking at him like he was the only person in the world.

“Thanks,” Renjun said.

Donghyuck walked past them into the kitchen, rummaging around in the cupboard to find a pan. “I agree with Renjun. It’s really not that impressive.”

“Hey.” Jaemin swiveled in his seat, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be like that. Are you jealous or something?”

Donghyuck, having found the pan he was looking for, tossed it onto the stovetop with an unceremonious clanging. “I’m not jealous.”

“You are.” Renjun had never heard Jaemin speak so firmly before. “Don’t you realize that Injun being successful means success for all of us? If he sells fifteen thousand albums, it’s good for you, too.”

“I said, I’m not jealous.” Donghyuck slammed his palms down on the counter. “I just think it’s silly that someone acting so disingenuous should get so much attention.”

Renjun continued to eat his dinner, and wondered how it was that even when he wasn’t the one starting fights, he was still the one being fought over.

“What does it matter?” Jaemin snapped. “You’re just looking for more reasons to pick on Injun. He hasn’t done anything wrong, so quit it.”

Mark walked in then, releasing a tired sigh. “Please don’t tell me you guys are starting something again. You’re going to drive me crazy.”

Donghyuck pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to remain silent, and turned back to the stove.

“I wish he listened to me as well as he listens to you,” Jaemin said.

Mark rolled his eyes and tugged open the fridge. “At least he listens to someone.”

\---

CZN Entertainment hosted a party a month and a half after Dreamchaser’s debut. Being the guests of honor, the band members were dolled up as if they were going to perform onstage, and when they arrived at the banquet hall, they found one of the long tables specifically labeled with their names, a seat for each member, and one seat for the CEO.

Before they ate, however, they were made to stand close by the doors to greet the other company staff as they entered. Renjun estimated bowing about four hundred times, to four hundred people he’d never even seen before. If anything was disingenuous, like Donghyuck had accused, this was it.

At one point, a pretty woman with blonde hair and pointy heels cheerfully approached them. She did not say her name, as if they should already have known it; Mark informed Renjun, seconds after she left, “Holy shit. That was Kim Shinah.”

“Who?”

Mark didn’t even bother to shoot Renjun a disapproving glance, because his gaze was still following the woman’s figure as she crossed to room to find her seat. “Kim Shinah. She’s a huge star. I used to have a poster of her on my wall back home. She’s, like, half the reason I auditioned at CZN.”

Now that he thought about it, Renjun might have heard of her before, maybe on the radio once. “She’s too old for you.”

“I know. I’m not horny, I’m just starstruck.” Mark blinked hard a few times, as if trying to snap himself back to reality.

Renjun wondered if Sicheng would have reacted the same way to meeting Superstar.

And just as he thought it, Taeyong came over, five men trailing behind him. “I wanted to introduce you guys -- this is Superstar. Your _sunbaenim._”

The other Dreamchaser members launched into their lowest bows yet, clearly overwhelmed at meeting their idols. Renjun imitated their wowed expressions. Sicheng’s reverence for Superstar was one thing he had never really picked up.

Unlike Kim Shinah, each of the Superstar members took turns shaking hands and introducing themselves: Taeil, Yuta, Jaehyun, Johnny, and Doyoung. Renjun was less struck by being in their presence, as he was at the thought that they had once debuted, once been in the spot Dreamchaser was in now. He wondered if, someday, he would shake someone’s hand and find them in awe of him.

One of them, Taeil, smiled at Renjun and said, “You guys are really impressive, for being so young. Were you a singer before you auditioned, Renjun?”

“Oh -- no. A dancer, mostly.”

“Really? I listened to your album, and I think your voice is great. Really clear, I mean.”

Even without the hero-worship, Renjun was a little breathless at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. If I ever have a free day, we should meet at the studio. I can help you practice, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Taeil smiled bashfully. “You guys are the first boy group to debut since we did. That kind of makes you our younger brothers. Our _dongsaengs._ If I can help at all, I want to.”

Renjun had for some reason thought the members of Superstar might be stuck-up. The unexpected kindness just about bowled him over.

Yuta came up next, and said, “You’re from China, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s tough living so far from home. I was homesick for ages after I left Japan.”

It was only after someone else recognized it that Renjun realized how isolating it was, being a foreign idol. Maybe Mark could understand it somewhat, but he’d been living there for much longer than Renjun had, not to mention his parents were Korean.

“Did you ever get used to it?” Renjun asked.

“Not really,” Yuta answered plainly. “I mean, living here is normal for me now. But in a way, you still feel like an ‘other.’ Does that make sense?”

It made perfect sense, Renjun thought. He nodded, thankful that someone else understood it.

“But it helps if you have good people to help you out.” Yuta glanced at his bandmates. “I don’t know if I would have stuck around this long without them.”

Renjun took a moment to look over his own members. What did any of them know about him? How close could they really be, when Renjun still somehow felt a thousand miles away?

When he zoned back in, he found that Taeyong had snatched Yuta away, slinging his arm around the man’s shoulder as if they were old friends. Which they were, Renjun had to remind himself -- Taeyong would have debuted in Superstar, if not for his injury. He wondered if Taeyong ever felt any bitterness towards his former bandmates for continuing on without him. He decided that he would ask Taeyong about it, someday.

Soon after, the food was wheeled out, and the members were brought to the table to sit. All five of them eyed the sign on the sixth chair -- “Choi Jongnam, CEO.” Only a moment later, he entered, the rest of the party standing to clap and cheer at his entrance.

Dreamchaser bowed collectively as he came to sit. He did not wear his dark glasses as he had on the day he’d watched their routine. His expression was mild, but not unfriendly, and he nodded to each boy in turn before settling in his chair.

“I’m very happy with your debut,” he began, folding his hands in front of his plate. “I’m optimistic that you’ll represent the company well, and be worthy successors to Superstar’s popularity.”

Mark, playing his leader role well, said, “Thank you. We want to make you proud.”

“It’s a tough industry to navigate,” Choi Jongnam continued, “but I think you’ll find its rewards make it well worth it.”

Renjun’s gaze, without him even being aware of it, had found Jeno across the table, pulled as always by his gravity.

Jeno’s eyes were shut, as if he were praying what the CEO had just said was true.

\---

Dreamchaser’s schedule was always packed, between TV shows, performances, and shoots. Because of this, it felt that almost no time passed at all before it was winter again. Late December, they were told that they were all permitted a week break from activities to spend time with their families for the holidays. It was Taeyong who informed them, inviting himself into their dorm on a snowy evening.

Everyone immediately began making plans, calling up their folks on the phone to figure out travel. Renjun did not move from the couch.

“You don’t seem all that excited,” Taeyong observed.

“I won’t be going home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I want to stay in the dorm.”

Taeyong shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll be sticking around here anyway, so you won’t be alone.”

Jaemin came back in from his bedroom, already toting a duffel bag full of clothes. “My dad is gonna come pick me up tonight, if that’s alright.”

“That’s fine. Make sure you have everything. Don’t forget your toothbrush.”

Renjun snorted at the fatherly inflection in Taeyong’s voice.

Mark appeared a minute later with his laptop in hand. “I’ve gotta buy plane tickets. Taeyong, will you be able to get me a car to the airport?”

Even amongst the sudden bustle of their apartment, Renjun did not miss Jeno slipping silently out onto the balcony.

Making sure the others were preoccupied, he stood and followed.

When he slid open the glass door, he was met by the unexpected scent of cigarette smoke.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said, almost too loudly. Jeno crouched against the wall, out of sight from the inside, cigarette tucked between his lips. Impulsively, Renjun snatched it, dropped it onto the concrete floor, and stamped it out with the heel of his slipper.

“That was rude,” Jeno remarked.

“Not even half as rude as Taeyong would have been if he’d seen you.” Renjun gave Jeno a gentle kick in the leg, encouraging him to scoot down so he could sit beside him. “You would have been dead meat. Where’d you even get cigarettes, anyway? You’re too young to buy them.”

Jeno didn’t answer, only waved a hand through the air to try and clear the stench. Renjun was brought back to that cramped Wenzhou apartment, where cigarette smoke smothered everything. The horrible, ugly memory of it only made him angrier.

“Smoking is terrible for you.” Renjun crossed his arms over his knees. “Can you imagine the headlines if you got caught? ‘Teen idol destroys lungs, disappoints bandmates.’”

Jeno laughed. Renjun felt a fluttering in his stomach at the sound of it.

“I’m not really a smoker,” Jeno said. “I only do it sometimes. When I’m stressed out, I guess.”

“What are you stressed for? You get to go home for a week.”

Jeno looked away, towards the dimly lit Seoul skyline, and Renjun realized he had just answered his own question.

“You don’t like your parents very much, do you?” he said.

Jeno’s brows bent, a harsh wrinkle forming between them, they same way they had that day at the music show when he’d dragged Renjun from the dressing room. “No. I don’t.”

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Renjun asked, trying not to sound too hopeful at the thought of it being just the two of them.

Jeno shook his head. “If I don’t go home, they’ll throw a fit. It’s fine, though. I’ll try to spend some time at my friends’ houses, instead.”

“By friends, do you mean girlfriends?” Renjun asked dryly.

“What? Are you jealous?”

Face flushed, Renjun snapped, “No, I’m not jealous of your girlfriends. Why should I be? I already see too much of you.”

Jeno laughed again, but Renjun didn’t like it so much this time. “I wasn’t asking if you were jealous of my girlfriends. I was asking if you were jealous of me _having _girlfriends.”

Renjun, realizing he was caught, pressed his face to his arms, trying to hide. If Jeno hadn’t realized before the way Renjun felt, he certainly knew it now. Renjun felt like he might cry.

“I’m just teasing,” Jeno said. “You know. My favorite hobby.”

“Well, you should pick a new hobby,” Renjun muttered. His heart ached, bruised from being played with. “Teasing people is gonna get you into trouble, one day.”

“My hobby isn’t teasing _people_,” Jeno corrected. “It’s teasing _you._”

“Why?” Renjun lifted his head, forcing Jeno to meet his eyes and see the tears that were gathering.

Jeno’s lips parted, as if he was going to say something but rethought it. Renjun felt a little rush of victory at having made him second-guess. He could play Jeno’s game, too.

“Because I like seeing you like this,” Jeno finally answered. “I like seeing you without the pretense and the composure and the coolness.” He swallowed, as if trying to stop the words that came next. “It makes me feel like I really know you.”

Renjun’s heart thudded, caught in his throat. Jeno wanted to know him. He wanted to know who he really was.

It would have been so easy to say, _I want to know you, too._

So easy to say, _kiss me._

Renjun didn’t say anything.

Jeno stared at Renjun through the long silence, waiting. But nothing ever came, so he stood and said, “I should go start packing.” Then he went inside.

Renjun stayed behind, still breathing in the lingering scent of cigarettes.

\---

Everyone had plans to go home except, surprisingly, Donghyuck.

He lay with his face buried in the couch cushion, moping. Mark stopped beside him and asked, “What do you mean, they abandoned you?”

“My parents,” Donghyuck said. “They bought cruise tickets for this week. It’s too late to get one for me.”

“You’re so melodramatic. It’s not like they did it on purpose.”

“They could always get a refund and stay home.”

“That seems extreme.”

“But it’s not,” Donghyuck whined. “My sister gets to go with them, but I have to spend the holidays alone? That doesn’t seem unfair to you?”

Renjun wanted to pipe up and say that Donghyuck was lucky. He was lucky that his parents lived so close -- even if he didn’t get to seem them over the break, he would have plenty of chances in the future. Renjun, meanwhile, had never known his father, and had not seen his mother since he was fourteen. What right did Donghyuck have to complain?

Instead of any of that, Renjun put on strained smile and said, “You won’t be alone. I’ll be here.”

“That’s even worse,” Donghyuck muttered.

Jaemin departed that night, and Jeno and Mark the following morning. That left only the two of them, and Taeyong across the hall.

It was awkward, to say the least.

Donghyuck seemed to pretend that Renjun did not even exist, shutting himself in his room to play video games all afternoon. Renjun busied himself by cleaning the dorm from wall to wall. It certainly needed it, seeing as they were all slobs, and Renjun was thankful for a distraction of some sort. Suddenly without promotion activities, it was like he was being denied a purpose. While he stood on a chair, trying to clear the dust from the ceiling fan, his phone rang in his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Renjun.” It was the woman from the CZN office. “I’m calling about your uncle again. He’s left fourteen messages on our machine in the past week.”

This had become a regular occurence. Every time, Renjun denied his uncle’s request to talk. He knew it was trouble for the woman who had to take his calls, but he’d thought his uncle would give up eventually. Apparently, he was wrong.

“I’m guessing you don’t want him to contact you?” she said.

“No. Thank you.”

Renjun hung up, then glanced at the time. Five o’clock. He stepped down and walked to Donghyuck’s door, rapping on it twice.

“What do you want?”

Renjun nudged it open. Donghyuck was still perched in his computer chair, playing a first-person shooter.

“Are you hungry?” Renjun asked. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“Nah.”

“Are you sure? I can make something.”

“All the food we have sucks.”

He didn’t mean that, Renjun knew. He was just being difficult. But why was Renjun always the one he took his anger out on?

Fed up, Renjun said, “Stop being so miserable. Every time you don’t get what you want, you throw a fit. It’s immature.”

“I’ll be miserable if I want to.”

“Fine, then. Just don’t drag me into it. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Renjun slammed the door shut behind him.

He went to the kitchen and began chopping vegetables. He tossed them in a pan, along with some garlic and pepper, the way his mother had taught him to cook when he was little as he’d stood on a stepstool beside her while she bent over the stove. The dorm filled with the rich scent of it, strong enough that Taeyong appeared a few minutes later, pushing open their front door and saying, “I thought I could smell something cooking from my apartment. What is it?”

“Nothing special. Just stir fry.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

Taeyong sat down at the kitchen table. “So. It’s nearly the end of the year. How are you feeling?”

Renjun stirred the pan, releasing a puff of steam and a long hiss. “About what?”

“Being an idol.”

Renjun recalled the time he had spoken with Taeyong at his place, after reading the comments from his teaser. Nowadays, he tried not to do it so much, because it always got to him. Still, it was hard to resist, in a self-abusive way, as if he thought he deserved that scrutiny and hatred.

He wished he understood why he kept doing it to himself.

“I’m still adapting, I guess,” Renjun answered, not knowing how to put what he really felt into words. Before Taeyong could dig any deeper, Renjun shoveled some stir fry into a bowl and pushed it across the table towards him. “Here.”

“Looks good. Thanks.”

From down the hall, Renjun heard Donghyuck’s door open and close. The other boy watched them from a distance, still looking bitter, but Renjun sensed a tiredness there, too, in the slight slump of his posture and the dark circles beneath his eyes, for once not covered by concealer. He was stretched thin from promoting, a rubber band about to snap. They all were, Renjun thought, and perhaps for the first time, he felt sympathy for Donghyuck.

“Hungry?” Renjun asked.

“Maybe,” Donghyuck said, crossing his arms just in case Renjun might have mistaken him for being in a friendly mood.

“Come and eat, dumbass.”

Donghyuck nearly objected, but then his stomach grumbled.

Renjun set a bowl on the table for him.

\---

It was the fifth day of their break. Renjun had gone to the studios to dance for a while, since he had nothing better to do. And it was nice to dance for himself for a change, rather than to dance for an audience. It reminded him of being a child, doing ballet in front of the tall mirrors, loving it for no other reason than knowing it meant he was capable of something, anything. It had made him feel like himself.

He stopped on the way home at a little restaurant to grab takeout, enough for the both of them. Donghyuck had brightened slightly after that first night. Renjun suspected he’d simply needed time to rest. He’d even asked Renjun to play games with him, though Renjun proved to be quite terrible at them, and Donghyuck rubbed it in his face each time he won (which was every single time).

They were sitting on the couch, eating and watching some family drama with goofy sound effects. Because of this, Renjun almost didn’t notice when his phone started ringing, but when he did, he quickly set his plate on the table and answered.

“Hello?”

“Renjun,” the woman said. “Your uncle is here to see you.”

He did not quite register what she had said. “What?”

“Your uncle. He came to visit.”

Renjun sunk back into the couch. Donghyuck noticed, and turned the volume down on the TV.

“I don’t want to see him,” Renjun said. “Tell him to go home.”

“Well, he’s --” The woman trailed off nervously. “He’s at the dorm building. I gave him your address.”

“What do you mean?” Renjun said, louder than he had intended. Donghyuck watched him with wide eyes.

“I -- he had proof of legal guardianship. I really can’t keep you from him without getting a lawsuit on my hands, since you’re a minor--”

Renjun ran a hand over his face. He thought he might throw up.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll go see him.”

“I’m sorry, Renjun.”

He hung up.

“What’s wrong?” Donghyuck asked. “Who’s here?”

“My uncle.”

“Oh. Is that a bad thing?”

“Probably.” Renjun still gripped his phone in his hands, tight enough that the tension made his arms quiver. What could his uncle want so badly that he would come all the way to Korea? Money? Another opportunity to torment him?

If it was the former, Renjun thought, maybe there was little to fear. Maybe his uncle would grovel for the promise of a paycheck. Maybe, if Renjun played it right, he could get his uncle to tell him about his mother. It occurred to him that he had more power than before. He had a job, a company behind him, a claim to fame. He didn’t really have much money, since he still had not paid off his trainee debt, but his uncle didn’t need to know that.

But, if there _was _so little to fear, why was he so afraid?

“I’ll be right back,” Renjun said. He retrieved his coat from the hanger, then exited the dorm.

All the elevator ride down, he considered turning back around, shutting the doors as soon as he hit the first floor and going back up. He did not. He simply held his breath, like he was descending underwater.

His uncle was sitting on a bench in the empty lobby, beneath the buzzing, too-white lights. He had not changed since Renjun last saw him -- heavyset, dull-eyed, his scraggly mustache streaked with gray hairs. When he looked up, Renjun flinched.

“I’ve been trying to call you for weeks,” his uncle growled. “Were you ignoring me?”

Any crumb of confidence Renjun had possessed was gone.

“No… I… I’ve just been busy.”

At this, his uncle’s entire attitude shifted, as if he had just remembered he had to be kind to get what he wanted. With a forced smile, he stood, spread his arms, and said, “Well. You’re famous, huh? I didn’t think you could do it, but look at you now.”

Renjun wasn’t fooled. His uncle’s words were insidious, spoken with intent, pointed and aimed like bowed arrows. He looked past his uncle, to the glass door of the entrance. Outside, it was dark, the winter sun asleep. Dark enough that Renjun could see both their reflections. He looked impossibly small next to his uncle. Just a child.

“When you left,” his uncle continued, words becoming sharper, “you made a promise to me. You said you would pay me back, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“I wanted to make sure you’ll still see it through. After everything I did for you.”

Renjun bit his lip.

“You weren’t planning on flaking out on me, were you?”

“I don’t have any money to give you,” Renjun said.

“But you will.”

“Yes, but…” Renjun pressed his chewed, jagged nails into his palms. “But first, I want you to tell me where my mother is.”

His uncle's wrinkles deepened, face contorted in ill-concealed rage. “We had a deal, Renjun. And now you’re making caveats, for a woman who did nothing for you.”

“I know, I just --”

“She did less than nothing. She screwed you over. And now, that druggie whore is more important to you than I am.”

Renjun’s last nerve snapped, disconnecting his brain and his mouth, forcing him to stupidly say, “Don’t call her that. Don’t you dare call her--”

His uncle grabbed his arm, hard. The same arm he’d broken just over a year ago. He dragged him by his wrist towards the door, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Renjun wasn't strong enough to put up a fight, though he made his best effort, kicking at his uncle’s legs, beating his free fist pitifully against his uncle’s shoulder.

“Let me go!” he shouted. “Asshole -- don’t touch me --”

In response, his uncle reached out and twisted his fingers into Renjun’s hair, yanking hard. Renjun cried out in pain. “Being an idol has made you cheeky,” his uncle spat. “You think there aren’t any consequences --”

“What the hell is this?”

They turned, looking back down the hall towards the elevators, where Donghyuck had just stepped out, face frozen in shock.

Renjun’s uncle let go of his hair, but kept his grip firm on his wrist.

“Go back upstairs, Donghyuck,” Renjun said.

The other boy fumbled in his pocket for his phone, held it up, and announced, staring Renjun’s uncle in the eye, “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the cops.”

Nobody moved.

“I mean it,” Donghyuck said, his voice wavering but resolute. “Let him go, right now.”

Renjun’s uncle could not have understood what Donghyuck was saying, but he must have gotten the hint from the brandishing of his cellphone and the firmness of his command. He let go, but not before shoving Renjun to the ground, watching with satisfaction as his nephew hit the tile with a hard smack. “I want my money,” he hissed, one last time, before pushing outside into the dead night.

Donghyuck rushed over, crouching to help Renjun back to his feet. “That guy is your uncle?” he asked, still warily eyeing the door.

Renjun nodded, the movement jarring the tears from his eyes. Hastily, he tried to cover his face with his hands, but recoiled, his palms sore from hitting the floor.

Donghyuck held his phone up again. “I should call, before he gets too far away --”

“No --” Renjun burst out, the syllable almost a sob. “Don’t call the cops. Please.”

“I saw him, Renjun. He was going to hurt you -- he already did.”

“Please. I don’t want there to be a big deal out of it. It’ll just be trouble. For all of us.”

Slowly, Donghyuck replaced his phone in his pocket. With a gentleness Renjun had never experienced from him, Donghyuck took his hand and led him back to the elevator.

“Did you used to live with that guy?” Donghyuck asked as they ascended.

“Yes.”

There was something revelatory in Donghyuck’s expression, mouth open, eyes round.

He didn’t ask anymore questions, just softly combed his fingers through Renjun’s hair, fixing it where it had been disheveled by his uncle’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i survived my finals!! thank you for your patience!!
> 
> i bet this wasn't how y'all wanted renhyuck to become friends and i'm sorry lmao
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	10. Chapter 10

Renjun was humming under his breath. It was a song from Dreamchaser’s second mini-album, released that April, shortly after his seventeenth birthday. Now, it was June, but he still found the song stuck in his head sometimes. Fortunately, it had been a big hit, but unfortunately, that meant it was still being played on the radio, which meant every time he got it out of his head, it would find its way back to him.

It felt a little like torture.

“Renjun,” Donghyuck growled, slipping past him to stand at the sink. Mornings were always a chaotic rush, bumping elbows and sleepy-eyed stumbling. Taeyong sometimes even let one of them use his shower to try and expedite the process, but they still ended up on top of each other, fighting for counter space. “If you hum that song one more time, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Renjun continued patting on his toner, not sparing Donghyuck even a glance. “I can’t help it. It’s catchy.”

Donghyuck began brushing his teeth, and said through the foam, “I would be perfectly content to never hear that song again. I regret every note I sang on it.”

From behind them, the shower shut off, leaving just the plinking of drops against the bottom of the tub. Jeno reached out an arm, searching for his towel. Donghyuck shoved it into his hand.

“Well, isn’t it lucky,” Renjun said, “that you’ll get to hear it all day today at our fansign?”

Donghyuck groaned and leaned miserably onto Renjun’s shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

“Stop it. You’re gonna get toothpaste on my shirt.”

In the mirror, Renjun watched the shower curtain fly open with a snap, and Jeno stepped out, wrapping his towel around his waist. He swept his wet hair, now a very pale blonde, back from his forehead. The hair color had not been the only change. Over the past few months, his shoulders had broadened and his build had gotten harder, more defined. These were details Renjun had not neglected to notice.

He looked away from Jeno’s reflection, forcing himself to stare into the basin of the sink instead.

Mark poked his head in the bathroom door. “Hurry up, we’ve gotta be downstairs in fifteen.”

“Shit,” Donghyuck said, before spitting and flicking the faucet on. “I told my mom I would call her this morning before I left. Renjun, will you grab my coffee for me?”

“Sure. Lots of sugar, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Donghyuck tossed his toothbrush onto the bathroom counter instead of into the cup, and raced out while balancing his cellphone between his chin and shoulder. Renjun picked the toothbrush up and put it in its proper place.

Jeno’s voice from behind him said, “I remember a time when you two could barely stand to be in the same room.”

Renjun capped his moisturizer and, without turning to look at Jeno’s face (because if he allowed himself, he might not have been able to keep his gaze from drifting lower), he responded, “Things change. You should just be happy we’re getting along.”

“I still don’t know what happened between you two...” Jeno passed by Renjun towards the door. In doing so, he placed his hands gently on his waist in an effort not to bump into him. “But I guess it was a good thing, huh?”

\---

** __ ** _It was a long time before Donghyuck let go of Renjun’s hand._

_When they arrived back at the dorm, Donghyuck bent low, looking up at Renjun’s tear-stained face, and said, “We ought to tell Taeyong.”_

_“But…”_

_“No buts. If you won’t let me call the police, we should at least tell him. That way he can talk to the company about it, so they can stop your uncle from coming back.”_

_Renjun wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He knew Donghyuck was right. So long as his uncle knew where to find him, there was always a chance he might try something again._

_Renjun nodded. Donghyuck called Taeyong._

_A few minutes later, they sat on the couch, and Taeyong sat in the chair beside them. Donghyuck gripped Renjun’s hand in his own, and with his other, gently rubbed Renjun’s back. Renjun was still out of breath from crying, shuddering with every inhale. Taeyong, solemn-faced, stared down into his lap, two fingers pressed against his temple, making his brow arch._

_“I’m just glad things didn’t escalate,” he finally said. “And I’m glad you’re telling me. I’ll talk to one of our legal aids in the morning to see what they can do.”_

_“I don’t want --” Renjun realized he was speaking loudly, and brought himself down to a whisper. “I don’t want it to turn into anything big.”_

_“And I’m sure CZN won’t want it to, either. They’ll keep it quiet. And I don’t think there will be any trouble with your uncle making a show of things. It would only make him look bad.” Taeyong sighed. “But if he _did _try something, the company has far more resources at their disposal than he could dream of. I don’t think you need to worry, Renjun.”_

_“Won’t he get in trouble, at least?” Donghyuck asked._

_“I can’t say. Keep in mind, he has your address. The company won’t want to piss him off any further. I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if they relocated us after all this. Or even paid him off, to keep him from releasing that information. It might be the cheaper option.”_

_Renjun nearly laughed at the horrible irony of it. Maybe his uncle would get his money, after all._

_“For now,” Taeyong said, sitting up a little straighter, “let’s just turn in. I think it goes without saying that I don’t want either of you leaving this apartment for the rest of the night. Just in case.”_

_“Okay.” Donghyuck’s hand was still moving in circles against Renjun’s back, soft and consoling._

_“Do you two want me to stay here?”_

_“No,” Donghyuck said. “You’re right across the hall, anyway. I think it would be better to just go back to normal.”_

_“Okay, then. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”_

_Taeyong shut the door behind him as quietly as he could._

_“You don’t have to keep doing that,” Renjun said, pulling himself away from Donghyuck’s touch. “I’m okay now.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yeah. Like you said. I want to go back to normal.”_

_“Alright.” Donghyuck leaned over and began to pick up their dishes from dinner, which still sat abandoned on the coffee table, half-eaten. He didn’t have to ask to know that Renjun had lost his appetite._

_As Donghyuck walked into the kitchen, Renjun quickly sat up and called over the back of the couch, “Also -- Donghyuck --”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Can you please --” Renjun paused, waiting for the scratchy sorrow in his voice to fade. “Can you not tell anyone about this, when they get back?”_

_Donghyuck nodded. Then, he asked, “But why? No one will judge you for it, Renjun.”_

_“Because I don’t want them to think I’m weak.”_

_It was the truth. It was what Renjun was afraid of. He was the boy who challenged the dance teacher, who punched Donghyuck in the jaw. He wasn’t a boy who was abused, walked over, pushed around, pitied._

_When he said those words out loud, it was as if everything suddenly made sense. As if he and Donghyuck understood each other. And he got the sense, from the knowing look on Donghyuck’s face, that the other boy had similar fears, had the same tenacious need to seem strong. Maybe that’s why he was so bullheaded sometimes, so quick to argue. Maybe they were more alike than they had thought._

_“I don’t think you’re weak,” Donghyuck said._

_Renjun pulled up his sleeve. Where his uncle had grabbed him were the harsh red outlines of fingers, soon to be bruises, just like the ones that had covered his neck when he’d first arrived in Seoul. He wanted to agree with Donghyuck, but it was difficult when his weakness was staring him in the face, marked directly onto his body._

_\---_

The fansign was outdoors, stage set up in a courtyard with a long table raised upon it. A huge banner flew behind them with a promotional image from their second album, and a screen on the nearest building’s side projected a live feed to the crowd. Renjun found the camera and waved. The girls in the audience screamed in delight.

He was nervous, it being their first fansign. He’d never interacted with their fans up close like this. What he worried about most was not living up to their expectations. He didn’t have Jeno’s cool charm or Jaemin’s sincerity or Donghyuck’s humor or Mark’s approachability. He only had the smile he’d stolen from Sicheng. He feared it was not enough.

The first fan stood before him, album in hand. He hoped she could not sense his anxiety. When she spoke, he couldn’t hear her, and had to ask her to repeat herself, though he stumbled awkwardly over the words.

After she passed, Jaemin leaned close to him and whispered, “Don’t be shy, Renjun. _They’re _supposed to be the shy ones. They’re meeting their idols.”

“I know.”

“You’re making their day. Be happy.”

Renjun shut his eyes. Jaemin was right. This was the part of being an idol he loved most. When the next fan came up, he found his smile didn’t feel so much like a facsimile of the one Sicheng had given him. It felt like it belonged to him.

Near the end of the event came a girl with a black bob, hair held back from her face with delicate, flower-shaped bobby pins. He guessed she was a couple years younger than himself, perhaps fourteen. Clearly, she’d dressed nicely for the occasion in a baby blue chiffon dress, ruffled at the front with a bow at her neck. When she handed Renjun her album, her hands were shaking.

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

“Just nervous,” she said quickly. “I was so nervous this morning, I skipped breakfast, because I thought I might throw up -- sorry, I shouldn’t say that, now I’m rambling --”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “What’s your name?”

“Yeseul,” she responded. “I wanted to tell you, while I have the chance, Renjun… just, it always makes me so happy to see you perform, I’ve been your biggest fan since you debuted, and -- well, I love you so much.”

Taken aback at her earnestness, Renjun let out a soft laugh and said, “Thank you.” It was strange to hear such a thing from someone he’d only just met. He wondered how it was that a stranger could love him so much, when sometimes he could hardly love himself. Maybe that was why she loved him: because she didn’t really know him.

Cautiously, he asked, “Can I ask what it is you love about me? I hope it’s not a weird question. I’m just curious.”

Her face lit up. “Everything -- like how you dance so gracefully, and I love your voice, it always makes me feel better when I have a bad day. And I know you work so hard for your fans...I’m sorry, I’m rambling again…”

“Haha, that’s okay.”

“And I love your smile the most,” she added. “It always feels like you mean it.”

Renjun felt a wave of guilt pass over him. He didn’t always mean it. He smiled because it was what he was supposed to do. He smiled because he’d been coached to do it by the company. He smiled because it helped him to slip through the cracks.

“If I didn’t always mean it,” he said, “would you still love me?”

She blinked, and took a moment to think it over.

“I would love you even more,” she decided, “because that means you smile for your fans, even when you don’t feel like it. Even when you’re sad, you try to make us happy. And that’s really special.”

The manager behind them signaled for her to move along. Renjun handed her album back to her and gave one last smile, a true one, before she got into the next line.

For just a moment, he felt he was worth something.

\---

_Renjun dyed his hair a few weeks prior to their comeback. It wasn’t so subtle this time as it was the last, where he’d only gone from black to brown. Instead, when he was spun to look in the mirror, his hair was a golden-blonde. It seemed to completely transform him, even change the shape of his face. He didn’t feel like himself. He was becoming quite used to such a feeling._

_When he returned to the dorm after, Jeno was tying up his sneakers to go workout. He looked up when Renjun walked in._

_“Hey,” Renjun said, removing his coat._

_Jeno kept staring._

_Self-conscious, Renjun ran a hand through his hair. “It’ll look better when it’s styled. I know it looks weird now --”_

_“No,” Jeno said. “I like it.”_

_“Oh.” Renjun’s heart felt as if someone had gripped it, squeezed, forcing it to beat twice as fast as usual. Not_ _just someone_. _Jeno. “Thanks. I --”_

_Jeno stood and stole the words from Renjun’s mouth by reaching out a hand and pushing his freshly-dyed hair back from his forehead. His fingers moved slowly, tentatively, brushing the lobe of Renjun’s ear, thumb trailing against his temple._

_He squeezed Renjun’s heart harder, harder._

_“I really like it,” he said._

_They stood only a few inches apart. Renjun let himself lean into Jeno’s touch, look up into his face. He’d never been able to study him this closely before, but while he had the chance, he counted all of the things he loved -- the mole beneath his eye, the dark lashes over dark eyes, the perfect bow of his lips, the heavy line of his jaw._

_Then, he pulled himself away. It was too dangerous. Too tempting._

_“You should get going,” he said. “We have a recording session tonight, so… I don’t want to waste your time.”_

_Jeno, surprised, stepped back. “Yeah. I’ll see you later, then.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Jeno left. His grip on Renjun’s heart did not loosen._

_\---_

Jaemin’s girlfriend was plain-looking. Renjun didn’t think of that as a bad thing, per se, just unexpected. He was used to the types of girls Jeno preferred -- slim, fair, with large eyes and glossy pink lips, always idols or actresses. Jaemin’s girlfriend was certainly pretty, but in an ordinary sort of way, her hair undyed, her face makeup-less, her build athletic rather than delicate. Apparently, they’d gone to middle school together, then lost touch in high school. She’d reached back out after seeing him appear as part of Dreamchaser on TV. Renjun had heard about her constantly for a few months, always having fuzzy cell phone selfies shoved in his face, but this was his first time seeing her in the flesh, after Jaemin somehow snuck her into the dorm late in the evening after a long day of dance practice.

“This is Gayoung,” Jaemin announced, leading her into the living room.

“How’d you manage to get her in?” Donghyuck asked.

“It involved an elaborate ruse and hiding her face under my coat.”

Mark, seeming thoroughly skeptical of the whole thing, said, “Well, you’d better hope Taeyong doesn’t come knocking. He’ll wring your neck.”

“It would totally be worth it, though.” Jaemin turned back to Gayoung. “Oh, I should have said -- these are Mark, Renjun --”

“I know who they are, Jaemin,” she said, laughing. “I don’t live under a rock.” Then she hefted the plastic grocery bag in her hand. “I brought some stuff to cook dinner, if you guys are hungry.”

“It’s nine o’clock,” said Mark.

Jaemin clicked his tongue in disapproval. “A lovely girl is offering to cook you dinner, Mark, and you’re gonna reject it? No way. Come on, Gayoung. We’ll cook for them whether they like it or not.” He placed his hands at her waist and steered her into kitchen, both of them giggling.

“Young love is disgusting,” Donghyuck muttered.

“They’re cute.” Jeno swirled the ice in his coke, which made a soft clinking against the glass. “Leave them alone.”

“You say that now,” Donghyuck said, “but wait until you get sexiled tonight. You won’t think they’re cute when you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“I can hear you, pervert,” called Jaemin from the kitchen. “She’s not staying the night anyway. Her mom is picking her up in an hour.”

“Yeah, pervert,” Mark chided.

Jeno snorted, and his coke bubbled.

Renjun sat curled into his chair, trying to make himself small.

He didn’t have a problem with Jaemin having his girlfriend over. It was bound to happen that his members would start dating -- Jeno already had. But it didn’t stop him from feeling a twinge of isolation.

Gayoung was an excellent cook, as it turned out. She claimed it came from cooking dinner for her three younger brothers while her parents worked late. Renjun caught Jaemin staring at her as she explained, his eyes filled with blatant, unabashed adoration. It was the same way he looked at his fans, and the same way he looked at his bandmates. Renjun wondered how one person could love so many people, without it being disingenuous, without it cutting him into a million pieces.

Gayoung and Jaemin did the dishes after. Renjun brought his plate to the sink, and Gayoung said, “So, tell me. Is Jaemin well-behaved when I’m not around?”

Jaemin laughed. “‘Well-behaved’ makes me sound like a dog.”

“Extremely well-behaved,” Renjun answered. “He sits, fetches, rolls over. Still haven’t figured out how to get him to stop leaving his empty americano cups all over our living room, though.”

“Ah.” Gayoung grinned, and bumped her hip against Jaemin’s. “Tsk, tsk. I’ll try to work on him a little. He needs a strict trainer.”

Jaemin responded by flicking a spot of soapy water onto her nose. She whipped him on the arm with her hand towel.

Renjun, sleepy on a full stomach, retired to his room while Jaemin walked Gayoung down to her ride. With a sigh, he set his alarm. 6 AM. They would be back in the studio again bright and early, because CZN had decided they ought to have another comeback before the end of the year, before they lost their momentum. It still felt as if their April release had just happened, but then Renjun remembered it was already July, and if they wanted to be ready for a comeback in September… Renjun wondered how it was that time had moved so agonizingly slow in Wenzhou, but so quickly in Korea that he felt as if he was being left behind.

Jaemin was back, and knocking at Renjun’s cracked door.

Renjun crossed his legs on his bed. “You can come in.”

Jaemin slipped in, shutting the door behind him and joining Renjun on the bed without invitation, though he didn’t need one -- he was the only one Renjun would allow to do such a thing. “Sorry for bothering you,” he said.

“You’re not bothering me,” Renjun reassured him. 

“What did you think of Gayoung?” Jaemin asked. “Did you like her?”

“Of course I did.” Renjun realized that Jaemin had been worried about introducing her, as if his members were his family and he needed their approval. Flattered at the thought, Renjun added, “She’s really cool. You should invite her over again sometime.”

Jaemin let out a relieved breath. “Yeah. For sure.” He leaned back against the wall and fiddled with the ends of Renjun’s blanket, the look in his eyes far off. “She takes such good care of her siblings -- her parents aren’t very well off, so --” He paused, nervous, a lovestruck child. “Sometimes, I wish we weren’t so busy, so I could spend more time with her, but then I remember that it means that, someday, I’ll be able to buy her whatever she wants -- _support _her, you know?”

“You aren’t already planning your marriage, are you?” Renjun asked wryly.

Jaemin blushed. “No -- just -- I think she deserves it. Having someone to take care of her.”

“I’m only poking fun. I think that’s sweet.”

“I just wish it wasn’t so hard,” Jaemin continued. “Dating, I mean. It’s so complicated when you’re an idol.”

Renjun felt that twinge again, like he existed on the outside. As hard as it was for the others to date, it would always be even harder for him. There was a reason he had not had a kiss, or even considered pursuing someone, for the almost one year since their debut. For one thing, he had no idea where to meet a boy he could date, and for another thing, if by some miracle he did, it would ruin his career if it got out. The entertainment industry was not a forgiving place. It was a hostile one, and he was enough of an ‘other’ already without adding his sexuality to that list.

Oblivious to this, Jaemin said, “I guess I’m getting too serious. Anyhow, when is our little Injunnie --” He poked Renjun playfully in the side. “-- going to get a girlfriend?”

Renjun wanted to tell Jaemin everything. He wanted to feel close enough that he could. Then he remembered that trust had to be give-and-take, and Jaemin had given him so much, confided in him about such personal things, that he ought to have known his secrets were safer with Jaemin than anyone else in the world.

Fingers white-knuckled as he fidgeted with his sleeves, Renjun said, “I’m not really that interested in girls.”

Jaemin stayed perfectly still for a second, processing Renjun’s words, clearly surprised. When the realization dawned on him, he immediately grabbed Renjun’s hand, and said, “Oh -- I’m sorry, Injun. I didn’t realize.”

Renjun’s anxiety melted away, and he was left overwhelmed by Jaemin’s unexpected response. “It’s okay. I just… I haven’t told anyone before.”

“Really?” Jaemin’s eyes widened. “Well, I’m glad you told me. I’m glad we can be friends like that.”

“Me, too.”

Jaemin wrapped his arm around Renjun’s shoulder. Renjun did not feel any less distant, but it seemed that that distance did not matter as much.

\---

_In the week before the release of their second mini-album, it was pure chaos. Shoots, interviews, practice, one after another, bleeding into each other. Exhaustion became their new normal, something that tore them down while also bringing them a little closer together, an unspoken, shared experience._

_After one particularly long day, they arrived home at the dorm past midnight. Renjun had nearly fallen asleep standing in the elevator, if it weren’t for Donghyuck pinching his cheek to keep him awake. Once inside, no one kicked off their shoes or removed their coats. Donghyuck immediately crossed to the couch and fell onto it, completely limp. The rest of them, muscles too sore to even consider the walk down the hall to their beds, collapsed in a circle on the living room floor._

_“I think CZN is trying to kill us,” Jaemin groaned. “This whole idol thing is just a front for their mission to murder the young and hopeful en masse.”_

_Renjun rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe we signed up for this.”_

_“You mean you’re not having fun?” Mark said. “Blisters on your feet and surviving purely on caffeine isn’t your definition of fun?”_

_The giggle started at Jaemin, and worked its way around the circle._

_“I think we’re all idiots,” said Jeno, from somewhere at Renjun’s left._

_“Or masochists,” suggested Renjun._

_They all fell silent for a moment. Renjun watched the ceiling fan above his head as it rotated, seemingly in slow motion. His gaze followed one blade as it moved around and around and around in a circle._

_“I didn’t know it was possible to be so happy and so miserable at the same time,” said Jaemin._

_“What’s there to be happy about?” asked Mark._

_“That it’s the five of us. The five of us, and all our fans.”_

_Jaemin nudged Renjun’s wrist with his knuckles, then linked their hands. He must have taken Mark’s too, then Mark took Donghyuck’s, then Donghyuck took Jeno’s._

_Finally, Jeno took Renjun’s. His hand was larger, stronger, bones hard and prominent. Carefully, he laced their fingers. Then he squeezed._

_Renjun was happy, and he was miserable._

\---

Dreamchaser had their next comeback in September as planned. At that point, the constant shuffle had become ordinary, the van that took them from event to event like their second home. On the way to record for a variety segment, they passed over the Han River, wheels rumbling on the concrete bridge. Renjun pressed his face to the window, trying to glimpse the rolling current of the water. Along the river’s banks, under the warm afternoon sun, families strolled. A little girl dropped a fistful of grass down the back of her brother’s t-shirt. Her mother took her arm to scold her, and Renjun felt a peculiar jolt of jealousy.

They arrived a few minutes later. After having their makeup touched up and their mics strapped on, they took their seats on the set. The host was a fat, middle-aged man with pronounced dimples which only drew attention to how exaggerated and phony his smile was. He cheerfully greeted all the members, then shouted at one of the assistants to bring him his water.

When the cameras started rolling, Renjun switched into his idol persona, sweet and innocent. He’d lost his nerves for interviews by then -- the company had supplied him with enough stock answers for questions that he practically operated on autopilot.

“Renjun,” the host said. “You’re from China, correct? Where in China?”

“I was raised in Jilin,” he answered.

“Oh, Jilin. Not too far away, then.” Even his voice was phony, overcompensating in its loudness. “Your Korean is excellent, by the way.”

Renjun was very used to hearing that. It still annoyed him, but he simply responded, “Thank you.”

“It must have been hard to convince your mother and father to let you become an idol,” the host continued. “Moving to another country, and all.”

That was a comment Renjun had not expected.

He wished his mother had been around to convince. He would have given anything to argue with her, just one more time, because at least that meant he would still have her. His heart flip-flopped. He hoped it didn’t show on his face.

“It was,” he lied. “But they gave in, eventually. They knew it was my dream. And I’m forever thankful that they let achieve it.”

The host moved on. Renjun looked down and swallowed his sudden discomfort. He felt Donghyuck shoot him a concerned glance, but he didn’t return it.

For the rest of the interview, the only thing on his mind was his mother. It ate at him, working its way in like a cancer. Why was this the first time he had thought of her in a week? Had being an idol taken so much of his life, that he had begun to abandon her?

_No, _he thought. _Maybe she abandoned me._

He bit his lip, hard enough that it hurt. He shouldn’t be thinking that. She never meant to abandon him; she wasn’t in the right mind. It wasn’t her fault. What a selfish son he was.

Renjun remained rattled by the thought. When the interview ended, he quickly changed, much faster than the other members, and went outside to wait for their van, thankful for a moment alone. As much as he relied on the others, being around them twenty-four seven wore on him.

The sun was still high in the sky, glancing off the windshields in the busy parking lot. Renjun tucked himself into the cool alley at the building’s side, out of the sight of prying eyes, and pulled out his phone. He still had the number for the hospital, the one he’d stolen from his uncle’s bedside drawer, saved in his contacts. He wasn’t sure why, since his last call to them had been fruitless. Perhaps he simply liked to have his mother’s presence there in some form, no matter how abstract -- he had no photos of her, of course.

The door opened distantly, and someone turned the corner into the alley. It was Jeno.

“I thought I saw you scramble out of there,” he said. “You didn’t even wash your makeup off. You always do that after a shoot.”

“I was feeling suffocated,” Renjun responded. “Are the others coming?”

“Not yet. Jaemin lost his jean jacket, and now they’re on a wild goose chase.”

Renjun snorted. “Naturally.”

“Did the questions bother you?” Jeno asked. “You seemed upset.”

“I did?”

“I live with you, Renjun. I’ve become pretty good at telling when you’re in a bad mood.”

“Oh.” Renjun felt a prickle of delight. Jeno had been paying attention to him. Jeno understood him, just a little. The thought of it encouraged him to say, “I just feel like, sometimes, I’m two different people.”

Jeno tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Renjun hugged his phone to his chest, searching for the right words. “Like, there’s the Renjun in China, and the Renjun in Korea. Or, there’s the Renjun on-camera, and the Renjun off-camera, and they exist at the same time. That probably doesn’t make any sense, but…”

“No,” Jeno said. Renjun hadn’t noticed it, but Jeno had inched closer, their shoulders brushing. “It makes sense.”

“Do you ever feel like that?” Renjun asked. “Like your life is split into two parts?”

“Yes,” Jeno said. “Before and after.”

Renjun remembered the day of their debut, when Jeno had gripped his wrist so hard it hurt, leading him away from away from that predatory man. It was the only time he had seen him afraid. He wondered if a moment like that was what lay between Jeno’s before and after.

“Why does it work like that?” Renjun pressed closer, searching for Jeno’s warmth. “How come when something happens to us, we get torn in half?”

Jeno raised his hand and brought it to Renjun’s face, tracing the line of his upper lip with the pad of his thumb. “Because it’s the only way to survive.”

Renjun was desperate. He wondered if Jeno knew that he would do anything he asked, absolutely anything, if it meant he could have one kiss. His self-control was wearing thinner every day, stripped down by fatigue and pressure and loneliness. He was a dainty thread about to break. He wanted Jeno to break him.

Renjun heard the sound of the door opening again. Jeno’s hand fell away.

“Where’d they go?” It was Jaemin’s voice.

“We’re back here,” Jeno called.

“Well, the van is here. Let’s go.”

Jeno did not look at Renjun. As if nothing had happened, he began to walk back towards the parking lot.

Renjun trailed behind, savoring the sensation of Jeno’s touch, knowing it had really meant something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was fast huh
> 
> i realized the other day that i was like 45k into this fic and still hadn't reached the meat of this story, which is why this chapter covers so much time. the flashback mechanism here is a little awkward, but i hope it makes sense! and i hope you enjoy this slightly happier than usual chapter!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	11. Chapter 11

“_Rising Star Award,_” Donghyuck said. “What does that even mean? It sounds fake. It sounds like a bullshit category.”

“It means a group that has a lot of traction,” Jaemin explained. “Like, a group that’s getting more popular. We sold four times as many albums as we did last year. I think that qualifies us.”

“That's so fucking nebulous, though.” Donghyuck leaned back on the headrest of the seat. It was dark out, but passing streetlights strobed through the van window, casting his face in stark relief as if lit by lightning. “Our only nomination, and I don’t even get what we’re being nominated for.”

“Just be happy we were nominated at all.” Renjun held his phone up in front of his face, trying to take a selfie for Dreamchaser’s Twitter but unable to get a good shot. He tapped the light on the van’s ceiling, filling the interior with the glow of its yellow bulb. “It’s not often that a group just over a year old gets this kind of recognition. We’re still newbies.”

Donghyuck forced himself into frame, leaning onto Renjun’s shoulder and offering a peace sign for the camera. Renjun snapped the photo, looked at his camera roll, and said, “Oh, cool, you’re blinking in this one. The fans will love it.”

“Hey!” Donghyuck tried to snatch the phone from Renjun’s hand. “Don’t -- don’t post that one --”

“Quiet down,” Mark scolded from the middle row. “I’m going over my speech, and you’re distracting me.”

“We’re not gonna win away,” Donghyuck said, arms still tangled in Renjun’s as he tried to delete the selfie. “You might as well not bother.”

“Have a little faith.” Renjun leaned forward and slipped his phone over the back of Jaemin’s seat. It fell onto his shoulder.

“Wow,” Jaemin said. “This is a really homely picture of you, Donghyuck.”

“Delete it.” Donghyuck unbuckled himself to lurk over Jaemin’s head. “Delete it, you traitor.”

“But Injun looks so cute in it.”

“Thank you,” Renjun said.

“Donghyuck.” Mark swiveled around, tugging an earbud out. “If you don’t sit down and buckle back up right now, I’m going to kill you.”

Donghyuck dropped back down into his spot. He rebuckled himself, but as slowly as possible, just to be annoying.

“Did you memorize yours, Renjun?” Mark asked, once he made sure that Donghyuck was situated.

“Yeah.” Mark, being the leader, took the Korean acceptance speech, but Renjun had been assigned a Mandarin version of it to read after, for their Chinese fans. The lines felt hollow to him, and he wished he could have written his own, but he didn’t want to get in trouble with the company. “I have a good memory.”

When they arrived at the venue, they were shuffled inside to their seats at a round table donned with a white tablecloth. It was the grandest stage Renjun had seen yet, glimmering beneath golden lights, the chatter of the guests bouncing around like echoes in a cave. His members were all wearing suits and looking especially dapper. It felt almost like they were playing grown-ups, wearing daddy’s shoes and ties.

Jeno’s hair was slicked back, exposing the strong lines of his face. Renjun could not keep from staring.

“God, I wish we were old enough to drink,” Donghyuck groaned. “A little alcohol would probably make this more bearable.”

“Pretty sure they aren’t serving alcohol here at all,” Mark said.

“Hush,” Jaemin said. “There’s a camera guy coming. You can’t talk about your degenerate impulses when there are cameras around.”

“Renjun,” Mark said, jabbing him in the ribs.

“What?” He tore his gaze away from Jeno’s profile.

“Camera, dummy. Smile and wave.”

Renjun did as instructed. He’d have to search for the footage when they got home -- slick-haired Jeno would be immortalized on the internet. At least there was one good thing about constant camera coverage.

Once the show started, they quieted down. Renjun did not find it to be a very exciting event, mostly a lot of polite clapping and back-patting, which made him think that maybe Donghyuck was right about their category being kind of a sham.

The presenter, a 40-something actor with perfectly straight teeth yet a crooked bowtie, leaned too close to the mic and caused an abrasive buzzing as he took a breath. “The next category is, _Rising Star._”

Renjun glanced around at his bandmates. They all seemed pretty unenthusiastic at this point, aside from Jaemin, who was bouncing in his seat, overly-excited.

The presenter glanced down at his card. “Dreamchaser!”

Their most recent single began blaring through the speakers. They stood and made their way up the steps and onto the stage, where the presenter handed Mark a tiny silver trophy with a shooting star on it. Renjun looked out over the crowd, filled mostly with industry people, a small section pinched off for fans. The handful of fans that had come their for them started jumping and screaming. Everyone else applauded calmly, or took the moment with the cameras off them to sip at their waters and check their phones.

Mark did his speech first. Renjun listened, running his version of it over in his head, making sure he knew exactly what he was meant to say before he approached the mic next.

“Though we only debuted a little over a year ago,” he began, “we are so happy with what we have achieved, and for all the support you’ve shown us. Dreamchaser wouldn’t be anything without our staff, our company CZN, and everyone else who has given us opportunities during our journey. Lastly, we’d like to thank the fans, the ones who came tonight, and the ones at home, for everything they’ve done for us. Sincerely, from the bottom of our hearts, thank you.” He turned, glanced around at his members who stood behind him. His eyes stopped at Jeno, who had taken the award from Mark, and was looking down at it with a strange expression, half fulfillment, half fear, like the trophy might crumble apart in his hands at any seconds.

Renjun leaned back towards the mic, and added something that had not been written into his speech: “We love you.”

The applause started again, their signal to go back to their seats. Renjun did not look at Jeno the rest of the night, for fear that the other boy might have noticed those words were really meant for him.

\---

That year, Dreamchaser’s vacation was not a week like the previous year, but a measly two days. Those days off did not include Christmas, as they were recording another year-end show that day; instead, they got their break about a week later, just after the start of the new year. Renjun suspected that, next winter, there would be no vacation at all.

So short on time, Mark did not go back to Vancouver, but went to stay with Donghyuck’s family instead. The two of them left late in the evening, after they arrived home from the company building. As Donghyuck shuffled out the door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he pointed a finger in Renjun’s direction and said, “Don’t be too lonely without me this year.”

“I’ll try not to be,” Renjun responded, though he had to admit, he was a little sad to see the two of them go. The door clicked shut behind them.

Jaemin, curled on the couch beside Renjun, furrowed his brows in worry. “I forgot you’re staying here by yourself.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Renjun assured him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I like having some time alone. The quiet is nice.”

“I know,” Jaemin said. “But it sucks that you can’t go see your family. I’d invite you to come stay at my place, but my grandparents are coming to visit, so it’s a full house.”

Renjun shook his head. “I mean it. I’ll be fine. So don’t feel sorry.”

Part of him wished, as he watched Jaemin leave the following morning, that he had been able to go with him. He wasn’t lying when he’d said he was okay being alone, but at the same time, it might have been nice to meet Jaemin’s parents and see where he lived. He’d gotten the sense before that Jaemin’s family was quite well-off. Perhaps he could have gotten the chance to use one of those fancy bathtubs with the jets.

Now, it was only him and Jeno, who would be heading home around noon, being given a ride by a company car. Jeno had already packed his bag, and as the time grew closer, Renjun noticed the anxious tapping of his foot, the chewing of his lip as he sat in waiting on the sofa.

“Excited to see your parents?” Renjun asked nonchalantly. He settled on the edge of the armchair.

Jeno gave a bitter smile. “Funny joke. You know the answer to that question.”

“Do you fight with them a lot?”

“We don’t fight,” Jeno answered. “Not really. They just drive me crazy, sometimes.” His foot tapped even faster.

_That’s clearly an understatement, _Renjun thought.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.

“What?” Jeno was so surprised at the question, he flinched. “You want to come to my house?”

“I just thought you might feel better if you had someone with you.”

Jeno’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Renjun felt a little pleasure at this -- it wasn’t often that Jeno emoted so openly, so sincerely. “No. It would just be weird, having you there. Plus, my parents would say no. They don’t like guests.”

Renjun propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his palm against his cheek. “Well. Then you shouldn’t warn them that I’m coming. I’ll just show up there with you, and they’ll _have _to let me in. We could do it, just to piss them off.”

Jeno stopped tapping his foot. “That’s not a bad idea… You can be awful devious, sometimes. Maybe you aren’t so pure, after all.”

“Should I go pack my bag?”

Jeno chewed his lip again in contemplation, before conceding, “Alright. Hurry, though. The car’s gonna be here in half an hour.”

Renjun scurried to his room, giddy at the prospect of seeing the place that Jeno grew up.

\---

Jeno’s house was not what Renjun expected it to look like.

For one thing, it was very small, tucked between two similarly dingy houses in a seedy-looking neighborhood on the outskirts of Incheon. One-story, scrappy yard, a stray cat trailing out front with the stringy remnants of a fried chicken leg held in its jaws. What set it apart from every other house on that street, was the expensive car parked on the curb, a dark, shiny, luxurious blue. The brand logo on the bumper was spotless silver, clearly given much attention.

Jeno pushed open the front door, and Renjun realized that it was a house full of contradiction, and a house full of _things. _Despite the low ceilings and cramped, tiny rooms, precious objects glittered around them -- a huge flatscreen TV on the living room wall, an ornate light fixture hanging above the cracked kitchen counter, a full set of never-used golf clubs leaning by the disarrayed pile of shoes at the front door.

And then there was Jeno’s mother, who sat alone at the dining room table. She was round, frizzy-haired, wearing ruby red lipstick, and smoking a cigarette with one hand while she tapped at her phone with the other. She looked up at the sound of the door shutting, and blinked in disbelief when she saw Renjun standing there beside her son.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Renjun bowed. “Hello. I’m Renjun. Jeno’s bandmate. He said I could stay for our break.”

Her grip tightened on her cigarette, loosening a rain of ashes onto the tray in front of her. “Did he, now.”

“I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

“No, dear,” she responded stiffly. “Not at all.”

“Hi, mom,” Jeno said, as if reminding her he was there.

She smiled, unconvincingly. “Hi, sweetie. Nice of you to bring your friend.”

The tension in the air was so palpable, Renjun felt it pricking at him like static.

“We’re going to put our stuff in my room,” Jeno said. He grabbed Renjun’s hand and led him through the living room towards the back hall. Renjun stepped over the ends of a fine velvet curtain, too long for their window.

Jeno’s room seemed to be the only one in the house that wasn’t full to bursting. In fact, it seemed remarkably untouched, as if no one had been inside it since he last visited -- the bed was unmade, the blinds shut, his desk covered in a thin film of dust. It was mostly empty, which made sense since Jeno had brought most of his things with him to the dorm, though that gave the space an eerie energy, like it was a ghost town. The one part of that room that seemed alive, and the one part of that still had clearly been tended in his absence, was the collection of trophies and framed photos on his bureau. Renjun walked closer, examining them. The trophies were all from elementary and middle school: “Best Junior Dance Performer,” “Hyunsan Talent Show, Winner,” and a shiny gold metal marked, “Free-style, First Place, 2011.” The photographs seemed to be of the same era: Jeno standing beside his dance company team, Jeno sitting in a folding chair on the set of a commercial shoot, a very young portrait that Renjun guessed was his first headshot for his resume. The Jeno of that headshot was smiling a missing-toothed smile, eyes curved in their familiar crescents. He looked the same, except more innocent, happier, still untainted by the cynicism that would later be instilled in him by constant pressure, high demands, unwanted hands.

Renjun, unconsciously, reached out to pick up the photograph.

“What are you doing?” Jeno asked.

Renjun jumped. “Sorry -- I was just looking at it.” He pulled his hand away. “How old were you here? Five? Six?”

“I don’t remember,” Jeno said. “I don’t like that picture.”

“Oh.” Uneasy, Renjun rubbed the back of his neck where he had begun to feel that electric prickle again.

“Just toss your stuff anywhere,” Jeno told him, throwing his own bag onto his bed. “So, what do you think? It’s an ugly house, isn’t it?”

“It’s --” Renjun paused. “It’s alright.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Jeno dropped down onto his bed beside his bag and let out a long sigh. “It’s tacky. I earn my parents all this money, and they can’t even save it worth a damn. They could have held onto it until they could afford a nicer house, but instead they spent it right away on stupid stuff.”

“Ah. I see.” It made sense, suddenly, the eclectic mess. A poor family, bolstered by their son’s success, only to waste it on objects that had no value aside from their price tag. “Your mom seems… nice.”

“Does she?” asked Jeno flatly.

“What does she do?”

“She doesn’t have a job. She stays at home all day and smokes cigarettes and does paint-by-numbers.” He gestured towards his bureau. “And dusts my trophies.”

“Oh. What about your dad?”

“He’s at work right now. He runs a t-shirt printing business. Super ordinary, huh?”

“Will he be back for dinner? I’d like to meet him.”

“_Dinner,_” Jeno repeated, collapsing back on his bed as if defeated by the thought. “That should be no fun at all.”

\---

Jeno’s prediction was correct.

The four of them sat around the dining table, which had to be cleared off before they ate -- old newspapers, stacks of bills, and a handful of assorted, gaudy rings were relocated to a stand in the corner.

Jeno’s father, who sat across from Renjun at the table, wore a shabby gray suit and a gold watch. Renjun could see where Jeno had gotten his good looks from; they had the same bone structure, the same strong jaw, though his father’s was covered in graying stubble. He wore large-lensed glasses which took on the glare from the elaborate light fixture, but when he turned his head away towards the shadow, Renjun could see heavy dark circles beneath his eyes.

“So,” Jeno’s mother said. She sat at Renjun’s right, on the opposite end from Jeno. “Have you brought me and your father a gift?”

Jeno, who had been poking distractedly at his rice, looked up at her and responded, “No, I haven’t.”

“Really? I assumed you would have _some _kind of gift, since it's been so long since you sent us any money.”

“I guess… I just didn’t think of it. I’ve been busy.”

His mother pursed her red lips. “Too busy for your parents, huh?”

Renjun, uncomfortable, leaned back from the table, only to be trapped by the hard, ridged splat of his chair.

“I’m working hard,” Jeno tried, rolling his chopsticks between his thumb and forefinger. “Dreamchaser is doing really well now. It’s been a good year for us.”

“How many awards did you take home this year?” asked his father, without looking at Jeno, seeming only vaguely interested.

“Uh. Three music show wins. And we got two year-end awards --”

“I saw one of those award shows,” his mother butted in. “What was the name of the thing you won again? _New Star_?”

“_Rising Star Award,_” Jeno corrected.

“How come you only performed one song? Some of the other groups performed two,” she said, sniffing, as if she could smell something rotten.

Renjun, skin crawling from the awkwardness, attempted to change the subject. “Did you paint that?” he asked Jeno’s mother, pointing towards a canvas that hung crookedly on the far wall, of a fox lying in a field of wheat. “It’s nice.”

She shifted in her seat to look at him, an owl locking eyes on her prey. “Renjun. Tell me. Where do you see Dreamchaser in the future? Five years from now, let’s say.”

Put on the spot, Renjun could not think quickly. Five years seemed like a long time. He almost could not imagine it, being an idol, being _tired_, for so much of his life. How old would he be then? Twenty-two? It was so young, but it felt so old. It felt impossible.

But he wouldn’t say any of that, because it was what she wanted to hear. Instead, he said, “I think we’ll be the biggest group in Korea.”

She blinked. Then, she turned back to Jeno, with a sickening smile. “Of course. Jeno’s been a star since he was only a child. It’s his fate, I think.”

Jeno looked as though the words had struck him like a hammer, like a nail through his heart.

\---

They turned in early, as if willing the day to be over.

“You can have my bed,” Jeno said. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Renjun crossed his arms. “You don’t have to do that. I can sleep on the floor.”

“You’re the guest. Don’t be ridiculous.” Jeno began unfolding the blanket he’d retrieved from the closet, whipping it upwards and parachuting it over the floor. “Unless you wanted to share the bed. It’s only a twin, though, so it’d be pretty cozy.”

_Yes, please, _Renjun might have said, if he hadn’t been convinced Jeno was joking.

They were both stubborn, but Jeno was Renjun’s weak spot, so eventually he gave in and found himself lying in Jeno’s bed, the lights off, the door shut. Sleeping in someone else’s bed was like wearing their clothes, strange and displacing. He thought about Jeno, before he became an idol, lying there as he was now. What did Jeno think, when he stared up at his ceiling? _Probably, he wishes that he was somewhere else, _Renjun decided. It was the same thing Renjun used to feel in his bed in Wenzhou, listening to his uncle’s snoring.

“Jeno,” Renjun said quietly.

“What?”

“Thank you for letting me come.”

He heard Jeno shift against his pillow from below. “You shouldn’t thank me. It was a shitty day.”

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault.”

It went silent again. Renjun pulled up Jeno’s bedsheets to his chin, relaxing into their warmth, wishing it was Jeno’s arms around him instead.

“I hate them,” Jeno whispered.

Renjun rolled over onto his stomach, to the edge of the bed so he could peer over it. It was difficult to see in the dark, but he found Jeno’s face below him, the cool gray of his cheek, the black of his eyes.

“Have they always been like this?” he asked.

“Always,” Jeno said. “They decided when I was little that I would be famous. We were poor, back then. They saw it as a way out. I was too young to really know how I felt about it. I guess I thought it was cool, being on TV and stuff.” He turned his face away. Renjun could only see the curve of his ear, the side of his jaw. “They did anything it took, to make me famous. Anything.”

Renjun reached his hand down, searching for where Jeno’s lay on the floor. He found it, knuckles bumping. Jeno recoiled away at first as if he was afraid, but then grasped Renjun’s fingers, hooking them between his own.

“Did they know?” Renjun asked, trying to find the right euphemism, because he still did not know all the details, and because he didn’t want to say anything that might reopen an old wound. “Did they know that someone hurt you?”

Jeno turned his head again, this time so he could look at Renjun’s face. “Of course they knew. They let it happen. Because the man who did it said he could make me a star. And he did.”

Renjun remembered what Jeno had told him: _I think it might be nice to be the pure boy._

He wanted to tell Jeno that whatever had happened didn’t make him impure, and that purity was not something to be coveted anyway. But he knew Jeno would not believe him.

Instead, he held Jeno’s hand tighter. He was not thinking about kissing him, or anything of the sort, in that moment. Holding his hand was all he needed. Like they were still children, like there was still magic in such a simple gesture.

“I’m not good enough for them anymore,” Jeno said. “Nothing I ever do is enough.”

“You’re enough to me,” Renjun said.

The sliver of moonlight from the window shone on the shelf of trophies, a glint of gold in the dark. Jeno fell asleep several minutes later, their hands still linked. Renjun did not dare to move, in case he might wake him, so he continued to lay there at the edge of the bed. He watched the subtle rise and fall of Jeno’s chest, hoping Jeno knew he’d meant what he’d said.

\---

They began preparing for their next album in February. It would be their first full-length album, and they would be promoting two tracks on it, rather than one -- and that meant they would have to put in twice the time in the studio as they usually did.

Renjun could feel the exhaustion before it even set in.

Even so, he refused to settle for anything less than his best. Often, he thought of what the girl from the fansign had told him. His performance helped her when she felt down. And though sometimes he could not even help himself, the thought that someone else drew inspiration from his music made it worth it.

He wondered if she knew that _she _had had an impact on _him, _not just the other way around. Yeseul, her name was. He wouldn’t forget it. He wouldn’t forget her. Baby blue dress, flower pins in her hair.

He would perform better than ever before, this comeback. It was the least he could do for her.

And so, he asked Taeyong for Taeil’s number. Taeil had offered, at their debut party, to practice with him, and though Renjun had little interest in Superstar’s music (or any k-pop, for that matter, since he’d heard far too much of it since entering the industry), he had a great appreciation for Taeil’s talent -- one of the first things he’d noticed when listening to the Superstar album Sicheng had given him, was Taeil’s resonant, full voice.

They managed to squeeze in a meet-up during a gap in Renjun’s schedule. Taeil was already there, sitting on a stool, and when Renjun walked in, he smiled and asked, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Renjun responded, a little nervous. He sometimes struggled during recording sessions, straining for notes outside of his range. Donghyuck had been helping him practice, but it didn’t stop him from imagining a nightmare scenario in which, when he looked up through the glass wall of the recording booth, the producer would be shaking his head in exasperation at Renjun’s inadequacy.

“I’ve never been someone’s mentor before,” Taeil admitted. “Feels weird. I don’t know if I’m qualified, to be honest, but I’ll do my best.”

“What do you mean? Of course you’re qualified.” Renjun didn’t understand how the main vocalist of one of the biggest groups in the country could undersell himself so greatly. “I’m honored to be able to learn from you.”

Taeil grinned. “Aww, shucks. Then let’s get started, my young apprentice.”

He began by teaching Renjun a few new warm-ups. Taeil was kind and enthusiastic, but also knowledgeable, guiding Renjun with a gentle hand into proper posture.

“You sound good,” Taeil told him. “Some people sound shitty off the record. You have a good sense of pitch.”

“Thanks,” Renjun said, chest swelling with pride.

Just then, the door to the practice room swung open, and Jeno stood there, hand on the knob. “I thought I could hear your caterwauling from down the hall.”

“_Hey._”

“I’m kidding. Taeyong told me I’d find you here.”

“Did you need something?” Taeil asked.

“He’s probably just here to harass me,” Renjun said, side-eyeing Jeno.

“Well, yes. I also brought you a bottle of water.” He held it out, shaking it to make a sloshing sound.

“Thanks.” Renjun felt his cheeks getting warm, and tried to hide it by sinking lower into the collar of his hoodie. He stood to take the bottle, and as he did, Jeno took the opportunity to poke Renjun lightly in the side and say, “Look at our Renjunnie, singing his little lungs out. If we don’t watch out, you’ll abandon us for a solo career.”

Renjun shoved Jeno’s hand away, cheeks turning even redder. “Quit it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeno said, but when he noticed Renjun’s flushed face, offered, “You sounded good. Really.”

“You think so?” Renjun asked shyly.

“Yeah. You know I like your singing, Renjun,” Jeno said. “You’ve improved a lot since we debuted.”

Renjun basked in the compliment, smiling to himself. It had meant a lot to hear warm words from Taeil, but even more to hear them from Jeno.

“He’s right,” called Taeil. “Though he should probably get going, since he’s wasting your precious practice time.”

It was Jeno’s turn to blush, being scolded by his _sunbaenim. _He bowed, then scurried out of the room.

Renjun went back to his stool and uncapped the water.

“Jeno’s sort of like a child, don’t you think?” observed Taeil.

“What do you mean?” Renjun took a sip from the bottle.

“Oh, you know. Like, how little boys are always teasing their crushes on the playground. Tugging on their hair and calling them names and stuff.”

Renjun just about spat his water down the front of his shirt. He swallowed hastily, collected himself, and croaked, “Pardon?” 

With a wry, knowing smile, Taeil said, “You know, Renjun, if you’re having boy problems, you can tell me about it.”

By now, Renjun was positively scarlet. “It’s -- it’s not like that.”

“It isn’t?” Taeil said simply.

“It’s…” Renjun knew Taeil was too sharp to deceive. He could see right through him. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, no kidding. It’s complicated, and dangerous.” Taeil seemed more concerned than judgmental. He lifted his feet onto the bar of his stool, leaning forward, his mouth twisted into a sideways frown and his eyebrows knitted.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Renjun begged. “He doesn’t even like me anyway, so… just, don’t say anything.”

Taeil, afraid of being misinterpreted, placed a protective hand on Renjun’s shoulder and said, “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve had my fair share of boy problems, myself.”

Renjun blinked. “You what?”

“I think this industry seems like a homogenous place,” Taeil said. “But the deeper you venture into it, you find that isn’t the case at all. It’s just that the people who _are _different have their differences blotted out. Painted over. That way, no one on the outside notices them.”

Renjun’s nerves died away. He suddenly felt safe.

“You know,” Taeil continued. “If you want to meet boys who are not your bandmates, I know the places to go. They’re underground, but they exist.”

Renjun considered it for just a moment. It might be nice, not only to meet someone, but to get out of the dorms, see a new part of the city. But he decided it wouldn’t be right. It was no good, no fair, to chase other boys when he was still hung up on one.

“Maybe sometime,” he offered. “I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” Taeil straightened where he sat, exchanging the face of a confidant for the face of a mentor again. “Back to practice, then. So that you can eventually serenade Jeno. Well, maybe not Jeno. Serenade _somebody._”

Renjun laughed, his heart feeling a little lighter.

\---

The choreography for one of their promoted tracks, “Love You So,” was simple. They all picked it up on the very first day of practice, and by day three, they were in perfect sync, moving slowly to the song’s soft groove. It was a relief to dance to something that could be easily sung to at the same time, so Renjun was not fully out of breath by the song’s end.

Their other track, “Escape,” was another story.

It was the hardest routine they’d had to do yet. Their concept this time was not the bright, colorful style they were used to. They were older, more mature now, and so “Escape” was dark, rebellious, turning them into bad boys (though Renjun did not really feel like a bad boy at all -- it was more a costume he wore than anything). To match that vibe, the choreo was aggressive, elaborate, and perhaps needlessly difficult. It involved several formations that none of them had ever done, including a short string of acrobatics performed by Jeno, and after that, during the bridge, Jeno and Jaemin lifting Mark high into the air as he rapped, as if he was on a pedestal.

None of them complained, for fear of seeming the weak link. Jeno, who had more a right to complain than anyone considering the complexity of his part, remained closed-lip, head lowered in dogged compliance. Renjun worried for him; even if it was too much for him, Jeno would never say so. He’d worked too hard to admit defeat of any sort.

Mark, being the leader, kept a sharp eye on Jeno during practices.

“Jeno,” he said, between run throughs. “If your knees are sore, you should sit down for a minute.”

“They’re not,” Jeno responded dismissively, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt. “I’m fine.”

“I mean it. If you get yourself hurt, that’ll be no good. Not just for you, but for all of us.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Mark continued to eye him warily, but didn’t push it any further.

When they did eventually take a break, Jeno and Jaemin sat against the glass, Jaemin’s arm draped over Jeno’s shoulders. Renjun envied the way Jaemin could touch him with such ease, be close to him without even trying. Renjun wanted that casual closeness, but knew he could never have it.

Donghyuck must have noticed Renjun standing there, looking down, because he hooked their arms and dragged Renjun out into the hall. “Come with me to the bathroom,” he said.

“Can’t you go by yourself?” Renjun objected.

Donghyuck ignored him. Once the studio door was shut behind them, Donghyuck turned and said, “Are you alright? You look shaken.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. The way you were looking at Jeno. You seemed upset.”

“I’m worried,” Renjun said, looking down at the floor, tracing a crack in the tile with the toe of his sneaker.

“Me too.” Donghyuck swept a hand through his hair, puffing his cheeks and letting the air out in a noisy breath. “We’re going to drive ourselves crazy. Or drop dead from overwork. Whichever comes first.” He glanced back towards the door. “Jeno especially. You know how he gets. He’s… intense.”

Jeno had said he hated his parents. But he still tried to please them, like his life wouldn’t have any meaning if he didn’t. Renjun realized it with a pitying pang.

“I wish we could do something,” Renjun said. “We can’t just tell the company to cut back on practice or something.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t respond to a labor strike.” Donghyuck wrinkled his nose. Finally, he placed his hands on Renjun’s arms and, face serious, said, “Let’s make sure to keep an eye on each other, then. If anything goes wrong, we’ll do what we can to fix it. That’s what being on a team is _for_, right?”

“Right,” Renjun agreed. “Okay.”

“Now that that’s decided,” Donghyuck said, “I desperately need to pee.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? It might be a fun team-building exercise.”

“I’m quite certain, thank you.”

“It’s your loss.” Donghyuck ambled down the hall towards the bathroom, whistling “Escape,” as if he wasn’t sick of hearing it a thousand times.

Renjun stood behind the practice room door, taking a deep breath before he went back in.

\---

Jeno’s hair was black again. Black like it was when he and Renjun first met. That was Renjun’s first thought, when Jeno’s hair was being blown out with the dryer across the room. He thought that this was the Jeno he liked best. The most familiar, the most real.

Renjun’s hair was dark again, too. But when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was not transported back to the past. He still felt changed. He still felt split in two.

Their album would be released on April 4th. The day was drawing close, close enough to begin restyling and shooting, which was yet another thing to add to their always-full schedules. They were so busy, that Renjun did not even notice his eighteenth birthday as it approached, lost beneath a mess of sticky notes and marker smudges on their fridge calendar.

However, a few days prior, they were told that their activities would be cleared for the evening of the twenty-third. When Renjun next saw Taeyong, the manager gave him a wink and said, “That’s my birthday present to you. I thought you guys might want time for a party.”

“You pulled strings for us?” Renjun asked. It was a wonder how Taeyong did it, so near their comeback date.

“I quite literally begged one of the higher-ups on my knees,” Taeyong responded, “so I don’t see myself getting anymore favors for a long time. But I think it was worth it.” He gave Renjun an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “You guys have been working hard. You’ve earned it.”

The thought of the evening off was the only thing that kept Renjun going on his birthday. He did not sleep well the night before (though, none of them really did anymore), and when he went to pour his mug of coffee at 6:36 AM, his foggy morning brain caused his hand to slip on the handle, spilling the pot all across their kitchen counter and down onto the floor, where it seeped through his socks and burnt the bottoms of his feet.

“Fuck,” he said, more quietly than it deserved, hoping that if he was inconspicuous maybe no one else would notice the spreading brown puddle in the middle of their kitchen.

Approximately five seconds later, “_Injun! _What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” he responded, trying to peel one sock off with the toe of his other foot while hoisting the coffee pot in one hand, too frazzled to think to set it down. He stumbled back into the still-steaming spill and swore again.

Jaemin appeared beside him and took the pot from his hands. “You get clumsier everyday.”

“I burnt my feet,” Renjun said dumbly.

“Well, no shit. Go sit down, and I’ll clean this up.”

Renjun hopped lopsidedly to the sofa, plopping down and tugging off his stained socks. Mark came in from the bathroom, toothbrush still lodged between his teeth, and spoke around it, “What’s happening? We have to leave in ten minutes. You should be putting _more _clothes on, not taking them off.”

“Injun spilled the coffee,” announced Jaemin, voice muffled from behind the kitchen counter, where he knelt against the tile floor with a rag.

“Oh no.” Mark’s eyes widened in shock. “The whole pot?”

“The whole pot,” Jaemin confirmed.

“There is absolutely no way we’re going to survive this day.” Mark rubbed his forehead, as if the mere thought of it had induced a headache, and shuffled miserably back down the hall. As he did so, he bumped into Jeno, who emerged into the living room, took in the situation, and said, “Well, this sucks.”

Renjun, prodding at the reddening bottoms of his feet and grimacing at the pain, muttered, “I’ll buy everyone coffee today when we’re out.”

“Injun,” Jaemin called, just his eyes poking above the countertop. “No way. It was only an accident, plus it’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to buy the rest of us stuff on your birthday.”

“Birthday?” Jeno echoed.

“You forgot it was my birthday?” Renjun was so disappointed, he could barely feel the burn for a moment.

“I -- I guess so.” Jeno narrowed his eyes as if he was doing some kind of difficult arithmetic inside his head. “Your birthday, huh…”

“Why did you think we have the evening off?”

Jeno didn’t answer. He mumbled something to himself, and disappeared back to his room.

Jaemin balled up the coffee-soaked rag, holding it far away from himself to avoid it dripping on his clothes. “How are your feet?”

“Medium-rare.”

“Should we say something to Taeyong about it? You can’t be dancing if your feet are hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.” Just to prove it, Renjun stood, putting on a straight face to try and hide the pain. He felt like he’d just stepped on a hundred tacks. But he wouldn’t let anyone know that. He’d disappointed them enough for one day, and it wasn’t even seven o’clock.

\---

They were shooting footage for their music video. The dance would be shot on a set, one lit sparsely with neon lights, turning them violet and ringing them with black halos. Renjun wore pale contacts that had been a struggle to put in, making his eyes water uncontrollably. He still noticed them every time he blinked.

They were still less distracting than the soreness of his feet. The hurt worked its way in as an irritating itch and grew into an unbearable aching, sharp with every step. He managed to get through the first three takes without drawing attention to himself. The fourth was when he began to slip.

Donghyuck noticed it when Renjun stumbled into him, thrown off balance from wincing at the pain. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I just screwed up.”

The director called for them to cut. Donghyuck looked down and saw the way Renjun shifted on his feet, trying not to put too much weight on them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “You can’t seriously be dancing like this.”

“I don’t want to screw things up.” Renjun backed away from him, folding his arms, closing himself off. “If our comeback gets delayed because of me --”

“Renjun, we literally just talked about this. We said we’d watch out for each other.”

“This is different. It’s not that bad. I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

“You’re just as bad as Jeno is,” Donghyuck groaned. “You’re such a hypocrite. How come you worry about the rest of us, but you’re too stupid to worry about yourself?”

Desperately, Renjun tried, “It’s my birthday. Let me have this.”

Donghyuck could not respond, because they were all called over to the monitors to review their takes so far.

Renjun found it hard to watch himself. The discomfort was written all over his face and his movements were awkward, distracted.

The director did not hesitate to point it out. “Renjun. These takes aren’t useable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You need to focus in on your dancing.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Have you forgotten the choreography?”

Anger bolted through him. Anger at the director, but more at himself. All he’d wanted that comeback was to give his fans a good performance, yet here he was, floundering.

Taeyong, who’d been standing to the side of the set, butted in. “Renjun. Come here.” He pulled him away from the others, finding a semi-private place behind one of the light poles. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re an awful liar. Spit it out.”

At that moment, Taeyong’s phone dinged. He pressed the notification and read the text. His mouth dropped open in disbelief, and when he next spoke, it was a near-yell. “You burnt your feet?”

_Donghyuck, you absolute bastard._

“Are you crazy?” Taeyong gripped Renjun’s shoulders, as if he might have liked to shake some sense into him. “You have to tell me these things. What if something serious happened?”

“I didn’t want to screw our schedule up.”

“Well, now you’re screwing up our shoot, which isn’t much better.” Taeyong let go of him and took a breath, trying to calm himself. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Renjun. I’m just flabbergasted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Go and sit down. I’ll call the van to pick you up.”

“_What?_” Now, it was Renjun grabbing Taeyong’s arm, trying to stop him. “No way. Just let me finish filming today --”

“Nice try, but no. You need to go home, and probably see a doctor.”

“It can’t be that bad. I’m standing and everything.”

“Yeah, and you look like you’re about to keel over at any second.”

“But what about the others?”

“We’ll shift the schedule around so they can do their solo shots for the music video today.” Taeyong began tapping a number into his phone, no doubt already on the job. “Now, do what I told you and _go sit._”

\---

The doctor verified that Renjun had, in fact, burnt his feet, as if Renjun had not already known this. It wasn’t severe, more a nuisance than anything -- it might blister mildly, but should be painless in a day or so. Renjun, feeling validated yet still furious that he was being made to sit out at all, spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the couch, TV on, barely watching it, imagining instead what the day might have been like if he hadn’t been such a klutz.

_What an absolutely miserable birthday._

He proceeded to send many passive-aggressive texts to Donghyuck (“Must be awfully nice to not be thrown under the bus, huh?”), then mute his phone before he could get a response and shove it under the couch cushion.

The others were back at six. Renjun met them at the door.

“Hey,” Jaemin said. “You’re not supposed to be on your feet.”

“My feet are _fine _and I’m proving it to you right now by walking around. Look. I’m completely --”

“Stubborn,” Jaemin concluded. “The most stubborn person I know.”

“We bought you a cake,” Donghyuck said. “A strawberry one. You like strawberry, right? I tried to text you and find out, but I was being mysteriously ignored.”

“I’m shunning you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Let’s all be nice to each other,” Mark said, stepping between them. “We’re having a party. No bad attitudes.”

“I’m sorry, Renjun.” Donghyuck looked at him over Mark’s shoulder. “I mean it. I just did what I thought was right.”

“Kiss and make up,” Mark ordered.

Renjun allowed Donghyuck to place an exaggerated smooch to his cheek, finding it too difficult to stay mad at him.

“I’m making hot pot for dinner.” Mark carried his grocery bags into the kitchen. The floor still had a slight brown stain from the morning’s incident. “Non-birthday boys, come help me.”

“I, uh, actually --” Jeno, still standing close to the door, scratched the back of his head. “I’ve gotta get going.”

Renjun froze. “What?”

“Jeno,” Jaemin said. “That’s very uncool of you.”

“I have plans. I didn’t realize it was Renjun’s birthday today when I made them…”

“Then you ought to cancel them,” Renjun demanded, heartbroken. “What’s so important, anyway?”

“I told Sora we could hang out tonight.” Sora was Jeno’s current girl-of-the-month -- they rarely lasted any longer than that. She was in a girl group at another company, and had met Jeno backstage at a music show once. Like every girl Jeno dated, she was pretty, petite, destined to be dropped once Jeno grew tired of her.

“You’re skipping my birthday party to hang out with a girl,” Renjun said flatly.

Jeno, exasperated, leaned back against the door. “We’ve been so busy, I haven’t even been able to talk to her in weeks. I see you everyday, Renjun.”

“Oh, I understand, Jeno. You getting laid is way more important than our friendship.”

“Yikes,” said Donghyuck, pivoting in the other direction as if avoiding looking at a terrible car crash.

“Don’t be like this,” Jeno said softly. “Come on. I’m not doing it to spite you or something.”

“I had a bad day, Jeno.” Renjun thought he might start crying. Going all day trying not to look weak, then crying over a boy. Renjun felt amazingly stupid. He felt like the biggest fool in the world. “I hurt myself and then I sucked at the MV shoot and then I got chewed out by our manager, and all I want is for you to stick around for my party, and you can’t even do that much.”

That seemed to set Jeno off -- he said something bitterly under his breath, pulled his jacket more tightly around himself, then walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

“I thought I said no bad attitudes,” said Mark.

Jaemin returned from the kitchen and put his arm around Renjun’s shoulder, guiding him back to the couch. “I’m sorry, Injunnie. You know he’s been in a shitty mood for ages. Let’s just try and enjoy your birthday.” He brightened suddenly, and added, “Do you want your present now? That might make you feel better.”

“You bought me a present?”

“Sure did.” He ran back across the room to his coat and reached into the pocket, pulling out a small, flat box. “Ta-dah. Here you go.”

Renjun lifted the cover to find a simple gold bracelet, nothing more than a thin, half-coiled band, lying against a white cotton cushion. He took it out, and held it up to the light so it shone. “It’s pretty,” he said.

“Look.” Jaemin rolled up his sleeve, exposing his wrist. On it was the same bracelet in silver. “They’re couple bracelets, so we can match. Don’t tell Gayoung, or she might get jealous.”

Jaemin had also not seen his girlfriend in a long time, yet he still stayed. He stayed, and bought Renjun a gift. Renjun thought he might cry again, but for a different reason.

“Thank you,” he said.

Jaemin responded by leaping on Renjun and hugging the sorrow right out of him.

\---

Renjun woke up later than usual the next morning. He was being barred from schedules for another day (“Just to be safe,” according to Taeyong), but his internal alarm clock still had him rising just twenty minutes past his usual six AM. The others were busy getting ready, racing up and down the hall. When Renjun poked his head out of his bedroom door, Donghyuck, who was passing by, said, “Do not go anywhere near the coffee pot today. We don’t want another accident.”

“Haha, very funny,” Renjun responded. He went to walk out, but then Jeno approached, cornering him behind his door.

“Can we talk?” he said.

Renjun backed up, giving him room to enter. He was still mad, but the rare night of peaceful sleep had softened him. “Alright.”

Jeno came in, and Renjun shut the door. Jeno immediately went to sit on Renjun’s bed, something Renjun could not recall him doing in the over-a-year they’d lived together. Jeno patted the place next to him. Renjun, suspicious, joined him, but perched close to the bed’s edge.

Jeno sniffed, then began to toy with the loose strands from the hole in his jeans. It was a few seconds before he said, “I’m sorry for being such a dick. I just go crazy sometimes.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno repeated. “I do stupid stuff when I get stressed out.”

“Like smoke cigarettes and choose sex over your bandmates.”

“Exactly,” Jeno said, seeming a little stripped down by Renjun’s remarks, but he continued, “Anyways, that’s besides the point. I got you something.” He opened his palm, and Renjun had not realized it before, but he’d been holding a folded piece of paper, its corners crinkled. “Take it.”

Renjun did, and unfolded it. It was a phone number, one he didn’t recognize. “What is this?”

“Last night, after…” Jeno gestured vaguely here -- Renjun didn’t know if it was meant to signify _leaving _or _sex, _“I called one of the company’s dance coaches. They gave me the number of another instructor, who’s worked with CZN in the past. She teaches ballet. I was told that, if you want, after our promotions are over for this album, the company could arrange for you to take lessons with her.”

“What?” Renjun’s eyes flicked back and forth from the number, to Jeno’s face, back to the number, in disbelief. “Ballet lessons?”

“You said you used to do ballet when you were little, so… I thought maybe you would like that.”

“You remembered?” Renjun’s hands fell to his lap, and he stared at Jeno, and Jeno only. Ballet wasn’t the kind of thing he ever talked about, because talking about it made him sick with nostalgia -- the only time he’d mentioned it, he thought, was in the practice room, just after he’d joined the company, and Jeno had taught him to dance for the first time. Over two years ago. The memory was still fresh in Renjun’s mind (because it was the moment Jeno had first told him his name, a name that had meant the world to him since), but he’d thought Jeno must have forgotten about it by then.

“Of course I remembered.” Jeno smiled. Renjun’s heart pieced itself back together and began to pound incessantly. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Renjun said, defying his breathlessness. “I like it.”

“Good. If you go through with it, let me know. I want to see your ballet.” Jeno shifted, as if he might reach out and give Renjun a one-armed hug or squeeze his hand. But then he seemed to come to his senses, and stood to leave.

“I’ll see you when we get home,” he said.

“Okay.”

Once Jeno was gone, Renjun flopped back onto his pillow and pressed his hands, which still held the paper, to his face, trying to smother his overwhelmed, smitten smile.

\---

Miraculously, album promotions were over at the end of April as planned. The music video release was delayed by a day to account for Renjun’s missed schedules, but once it came out, there were no more incidents, no more bumps in the road. The album sold even better than predicted. Renjun received his first proper profits, his trainee debt eliminated. The first thing he bought was a house plant.

“This is how you ring in your first paycheck?” Donghyuck asked, leaning beside the window, tugging gently on one of the plant’s leaves.

Renjun slapped Donghyuck’s hand away, tipped the rest of the glass of water into the pot, then turned the plant on the sill to allow the less-grown side to have the sunlight. “I like plants. We used to have a lot of them at my house.”

“With your uncle?”

“My mother.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck shrunk back, seeming ashamed at his snarkiness. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Renjun flicked Donghyuck playfully on the arm, trying to lighten the mood. “My mom’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. Don’t get all mopey on me.”

“Oh… okay.”

“And don’t touch my plant. I don’t want you to kill it.”

“Noted.”

On June 2nd, Dreamchaser was invited to an outdoor concert, where many other groups would also be performing. They would be doing both promoted tracks from their most recent album, much to their disappointment -- they thought they might not have to hear them again for a while. Regardless, it was a short gig, and a nice, almost-summer day, so none of the members could be too upset over it.

Until it began to rain.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mark said, pressing his face to the van window on their way to the venue.

“It’ll pass before we go on stage,” Jaemin assured him. “It was so nice this morning. This can’t last long.”

“I don’t know, man. It’s like a big gray wall.” Mark lowered his head, trying to peer further up into the sky. “They won’t make us perform if it’s still raining, will they?”

Mark’s words proved to be a premonition. The rain did not let up. It beat against the high canvas draping of the backstage tent, so loudly that if there was thunder, it might have been indistinguishable from the roar of the rainfall. Regardless, Renjun’s microphone cord was being fed down the back of his shirt.

Taeyong and their other manager peeled back the stage curtain, whispering to each other with concerned looks. The stage beyond them was slick, and between acts, workers went out with mops to try and dry the stage, though it was a pointless endeavor; it only took a few seconds for the shiny black plastic floor to be flooded again.

“We’re not really going out there, are we?” Renjun asked.

Taeyong shook his head, as if what he thought was contradictory to what he said: “CZN says the show will go on, so the show will go on.”

“You can’t do anything?”

“Not unless I want my head on the chopping block, no.”

Jaemin, sitting down at the mirror and having his make up touched up, said, “What if we altered the choreography? So it’s simpler?”

“We don’t have time,” Taeyong responded. “You’re up in fifteen minutes.”

“This is complete bullshit.” Donghyuck walked over, placing his hand on the back of Jaemin’s chair. “You can’t make us dance like this. You can’t make Jeno do flips and shit in the rain. He’s going to break his neck.”

Taeyong had begun to sweat, despite it being cool from the rain. He took out his phone again, stepping out to make another call.

Mark gathered his members in a circle. “Listen. If we have to go out there, then we still have to give our best performance. Our fans are waiting, and we don’t want to disappoint them.”

“I’m nervous,” Jaemin said. He glanced in Jeno’s direction. Jeno’s face was white as a ghost. He didn’t say anything.

“I know,” Mark responded. “I wish I could change things. Everyone, just try and be careful. If you really think something might happen, then watch out for your safety first. It’s worth it, even if we get in trouble for it later. Alright?” He placed his hand in the center of their circle. “Come on.”

The rest followed suit. Renjun’s hand rested on top of Jeno’s, beneath Jaemin’s.

“Dreamchaser! Let’s go!” Mark shouted.

They all lifted their hands towards the ceiling, towards the downpour that lay beyond it.

Taeyong returned. When they looked at him, he said, voice strained with regret, “I’ve done all I can. I’m sorry.”

They were ushered onto the stage only minutes later. The rain hit Renjun like a smack in the face. He had to squint through it to see the muddled green of their fans’ lightsticks. Coming down to the center of the platform, his shoes slid, and he had to reach out and balance himself on Donghyuck’s shoulder to keep from falling. It was at that moment the true gravity of the situation seeped in, setting off an alarm in his brain. _This is not going to end well._

However, their first song, “Love You So,” went off without a hitch, much to his surprise. It helped that the song’s choreography was rather easy in comparison to their other track; none of them fell, only the occasional slip of a foot. Perhaps it was not as bad as it had seemed. Other groups had managed to get through their performances without disaster. Why couldn’t Dreamchaser do the same?

When the song was over, they all searched for each other’s eyes through the pouring rain. There was a piece of hope split between them, a new confidence from having made it halfway through their set. Mark nodded, a reassuring gesture, as he adjusted his mic before “Escape” began to play.

As Renjun danced, he looked out at the fans, cheering in their plastic ponchos. He offered a wink to a few who stood near to the stage, and they screamed his name. He’d done so many performances since his debut, yet he still got a rush from it. The others fed off of that same energy, as if the rain did not exist, dancing with the exact precision and effort they’d had in the studio.

They came upon the bridge. Jeno crouched, muscles compressed, a spring awaiting release. Then he flew into the air, legs swinging in a perfect arc, and when they hit the ground, they did not shift, his balance impeccable. The fans roared in applause, and Renjun had to resist the urge to do the same.

Jeno seemed proud of himself, too. He grinned, bounding to his spot for the next part of the choreography. With Jaemin, he bent over, allowing Mark to place his hand on their shoulders, and lifting his foot with both hands, hoisting Mark up into the air for his rap.

The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow-motion. Renjun watched as Jeno, beneath Mark’s weight, braced his feet against the stage to try and keep from slipping. But pressing harder against the rain-slicked surface only made it worse -- and suddenly, Jeno was tipping forward. He realized it himself, judging by the roundness of his eyes and the parting of his lips as he took in an anticipatory breath. Jaemin realized it, too, and tried to hold onto Mark, but there was no way to stop the crash before it happened; Jeno’s chin, knees, and arm hitting the stage, and Mark’s foot, still propped in Jeno’s hand, tumbling down after, his ankle rolling sideways with a goosebump-raising crunch.

Renjun stopped dancing. The music continued to play, a humiliating soundtrack to their mishap. The audience broke into terrified yells, and finally getting the cue, the operators turned the song off.

From behind the curtain, several staff raced out to help them move Mark and Jeno backstage. Mark was clearly unable to walk on his ankle at all. They slung his arms over their shoulders and he hobbled between them. Jeno, meanwhile, shook off any attempts at assistance. “I’m fine,” he said, though he gripped his wrist in the opposite hand. “I’m fine.”

The rest of them were shuffled along, through the lifted canvas flap. Mark was gently lowered into a chair, dripping rain from his hair and clothes. Taeyong rushed over, phone already at his ear. “Shit -- I knew something would happen --”

“I think it might be broken,” Mark said. “My ankle.”

“_Shit,_” Taeyong hissed again. “We’re going to get you out of here. Just stay still.”

The staff members milled around, getting Mark another chair to prop his foot on, searching for first-aid kits. The members, at a loss as to what why should do, hovered nearby, eyes glassy with shock.

Jeno inched closer to Mark, tapping him on the arm almost too gently to notice. “I’m so sorry -- it’s my fault, Mark --”

“It’s not,” Mark said. “It could have happened to any of us. We shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. Don’t blame yourself. You hear me?” He took hold of Jeno’s hand, grip firm. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Before Jeno could respond, Mark was once again being hauled to his feet, outside to where a car was waiting to bring him to the hospital. The others wanted to follow, but Taeyong held them back, insisting none of them move from the backstage area. By now, Jaemin was openly crying, bottom lip trembling, tears mixing with stray raindrops that still clung to his face. Donghyuck had grabbed onto Jeno’s sleeve, trying to pull him over to a chair. “You heard Mark. Sit down and try to calm down.”

Jeno wrenched his arm away, paced up and down through the cramped space a few times, before ultimately doing as he was told, dropping down into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Renjun could already tell what would happen next. Jeno would let the guilt eat away at him. He would collapse in on himself, and think he deserved it.

Renjun crouched in front of him, pulling his hands away from his face. “Jeno,” he said. “You should let someone look at your injuries.”

“I’m not hurt,” he snapped.

“You are. Your chin is busted. You’ve got blood on your shirt.”

“Just leave me alone right now, Renjun.” He yanked his hands back, holding them at the fold of his stomach, where Renjun could not reach them.

Instead, Renjun took Jeno’s face in his hands, begging him to look, to listen. “Jeno, _please_, take care of yourself.”

“Don’t touch me.”

Taken aback, Renjun obliged, and his hands rested uselessly in the air, like there was an invisible wall there between them. Donghyuck came up behind him, and tugged at the back of his collar. “Renjun. Come here.”

They stepped away, and Renjun realized he was shaking, and that Donghyuck was shaking, too. Despite this, there was no shaking in Donghyuck’s voice as he said, “Give him space. Badgering him won’t do him any good.”

“He’ll only blame himself --”

“We have to let him, for now. Or else we’ll just make it worse.” He ran a hand through his still-moist hair. It stayed swept back. “Renjun, you ought to know better than anybody that there’s no convincing him otherwise. You’re the exact same way when you’re upset.”

Renjun knew this. Still, he let out a tiny sob, and said, “I feel so powerless.”

Donghyuck took his hand. “You’re not alone in that.”

\---

Mark’s ankle was broken, just as he’d thought. When they’d visited him in the hospital, he was wearing a cast, sunk back into his pillow and looking totally devastated. It had reminded Renjun of the time he’d broken his arm, how completely torn up he’d felt.

“The doctor said it might take two months to heal,” Mark had said. “But even then, longer for me to dance again.”

“Well, don’t be thinking about quitting or anything,” Donghyuck had responded. “We’ll wait for you to come back.”

“Are you going home?” Renjun had asked.

“To my grandparents’ place, so I don’t have to leave Korea. My mom’s gonna fly in and stay with us, though.”

“It’ll almost be like a vacation.”

Mark had snorted. “Yeah, sure. Something like that.”

The entire hospital visit, Jeno had stood by the window, looking out over the street instead of where Mark lay in his bed.

Donghyuck had been wrong when he’d said they would wait. The company would not allow them to.

Taeyong broke the news to them with a solemn face, calling them together for a meeting in their living room. “We can’t just halt all activities because Mark is injured. The four of you will have to keep going without him.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Jaemin asked.

“Well…” Taeyong hesitated before answering, “The company is going to alter your choreographies for your past tracks, so that you can still perform them with four people. You’ll start retraining tomorrow.”

“_What_?” Donghyuck said. Furious, he began to raise his voice. “We lose a member, and now CZN wants us to act like it never happened? And they expect us to relearn all our songs?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Taeyong responded softly.

“We just have to do it,” Jeno said. Renjun looked up at him now, to his lifeless expression. The scrape on the bottom of his chin had scabbed over, and the wrist that had slipped under Mark’s foot was bruised and swollen. It was sprained, but not severely enough to keep him out of activities. “There’s no point in arguing about it.”

“Of course there is,” Donghyuck countered. “This is ridiculous. I refuse to go through with it.”

But Jeno was right. There was no way to fight back against the company. They wound up in the practice rooms the next morning as expected of them, going through all their old title tracks. Renjun found it almost more difficult than learning them for the first time -- he had to fight his instincts, the moves he’d memorized, to fill in Mark’s space.

As for Mark’s raps, they were passed on to Jeno.

When Jeno heard this, Renjun thought he had never seen such a broken expression on his face before. It was complete cruelty, to make him take the part of the bandmate he’d accidentally injured. But if the company realized it, they did not seem to care.

After their first long day of their new practice schedule, no one bothered to pretend to be optimistic. Donghyuck went directly to his room and shut himself inside. Jeno and Jaemin sat on opposite ends of the sofa, the silence between them filled by the television. No one ate dinner. No one could stomach it.

Renjun went out onto the balcony. It ironically felt like the most private space in their apartment; they rarely thought to go out onto it, and beyond it was only the complex’s parking lot, and then a construction site. In the distance was the rest of Seoul. Renjun watched it change colors as night fell, going from the deep orange of the sunset to a shimmery white as its lights turned on in the dark. Leaning with his elbows perched on the balcony railing, Renjun became aware of how little he belonged there. If he’d stayed in Wenzhou, where would he be now? Still at his uncle’s apartment, curled on his mattress on the floor? Would he have jumped ship the moment he turned eighteen to live somewhere else? Would he be supporting himself by working at a convenience store, a gas station? What about Sicheng? If he had never left, would they still be close, closer than they’d been before, shared more kisses, gone further than that? Renjun longed for it, a life where things could be half-normal, a life where he was where he was supposed to be.

He heard the glass door slide open behind him, but didn’t turn to look, thinking it was probably Jaemin. So he was surprised when he felt arms wrap around his waist, someone’s chest pressing into his back, a chin settling on his shoulder. He stiffened, not leaning into it, but not pushing away, either.

He could smell Jeno’s cologne, something floral and light, maybe rose-scented. The other boy’s lips ghosted against the place just beneath Renjun’s earlobe, his breath warm.

“What are you doing?” Renjun asked coolly.

“Nothing,” Jeno said. His lips drifted lower, this time pressing a proper kiss to the side of Renjun’s neck. Renjun shivered, rattled by the sensation but trying to resist it.

“Someone’s going to see us,” he whispered.

“Jaemin went to bed. They’re both sleeping.” Another kiss, even lower, at Renjun’s nape. Dangerous, dangerous.

Finally, Renjun turned around, twisting in Jeno’s arms to face him. It was a mistake, because looking him in the eye, any barrier he might have put up, any common sense he might have had left, crumbled to dust, blown away towards the horizon. Jeno came even closer, pressing Renjun up against the railing.

“I don’t understand,” Renjun said hoarsely.

Jeno responded by closing the gap, kissing Renjun on the lips.

Renjun’s kiss with Sicheng had been ice, cold to the touch, a frozen moment in time. Jeno’s kiss was fire, turning Renjun’s face red and warm, lighting him up from the inside out. He felt feverish, like he was being burned to the ground. But he didn’t break away. He circled his arms around Jeno’s neck, asking for another kiss, and another. Jeno’s hands slipped beneath Renjun’s t-shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of Renjun’s stomach, his hips.

Renjun’s back arched against the railing. Jeno’s tongue pressed at his mouth, and he allowed it, opening himself up, completely vulnerable. Just the way Jeno liked him. It was reaffirmed by the hardness in Jeno's jeans, which Renjun felt against his thigh.

Jeno stopped kissing him to say, “Let’s go inside.”

Renjun was too weak to say no. He took Jeno’s hand and led him through the door, towards his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	12. Chapter 12

Renjun woke up feeling hungover.

Not that he’d ever been hungover before, but this was what he thought it might feel like. His head buzzed. His eyelids were heavy. He felt like yesterday still clung to him, a ghost, a memory, playing over and over on loop.

_(Large hands, splayed over his back, fingertips brushing his spine. Lips against his neck, his chest, even the soft skin of his inner thighs.)_

He sat up in bed. The blinds were pulled over his window, but he could tell from the strips of light that came in through the cracks that the summertime sun had begun its early ascent. It turned the room a stifling, muddy golden-yellow, which lay thick over everything like smog. In the middle of his floor were his clothes, hastily removed and left in a haphazard pile.

Renjun reached out and felt the far side of his bed, where the blanket had been peeled down to expose the mattress. It was cold. Of course it was, because what would they have said if Jaemin awoke to find himself alone in his room, then seen Jeno slip out of Renjun’s door in the morning? This was how it had to be, but Renjun wished he could have woken to find Jeno still lying there, so he could curl closer to him, relish his warmth, watch his face as he slept.

Renjun swung his legs over the edge of his bed. His mirror, affixed to the front door of his wardrobe, confronted him. He was somehow surprised to see himself naked -- instinctively, he wrapped his arms around himself to cover up, as if the person in the mirror was a stranger who shouldn’t see him bare. Prominent beneath his skin were his ribs, the stark line of his collarbone. He knew he was skinny -- he’d _always _been skinny -- but it never bothered him until right then. Did Jeno like thin boys? What had he thought last night, when he'd seen Renjun without his clothes? Renjun wanted to know, but at the same time, he didn’t.

_(Something whispered against his ear that he couldn’t make out, but it still thrilled him. The scent of roses, which would cling to his bedsheets for days, a constant reminder.)_

Renjun stood and opened his wardrobe door, moving his reflection out of sight, and searched for something to wear.

He saw Jeno minutes later, standing at the kitchen counter, shoveling cold leftovers into his mouth as a quick breakfast. Maybe it was still a touch of afterglow talking, but Renjun thought he looked beautiful even without makeup, even having just woken up, tired bags under his eyes, hair messy. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but resisted the urge, because he could hear Donghyuck and Jaemin talking from down the hall.

“Hey,” Renjun said softly, hopefully.

Jeno didn’t look up. He swallowed his last bite, dropped his bowl into the sink with a clatter, and walked out of the room, as if Renjun was not there.

_(The intensity in his eyes, starving, wanting, almost enough to fool Renjun into thinking this was something real.)_

\---

They were shooting an ad that day for a clothing brand. It still seemed wrong, to be on a set without Mark. Renjun felt directionless, and even more so with his heart shaken, shattered, turned upside-down.

He manoeuvered so he was half-facing the camera, dropping the sleeve of his coat so it draped from his shoulder, wearing a well-practiced smile. He heard Jaemin give a little whoop from the sidelines, always his best cheerleader. Renjun glanced at him, feeling good again for a split second. Then he saw Jeno, standing at Jaemin’s left, who pointedly looked away from him, and his smile fell.

“Renjun,” the photographer said.

He caught himself, and forced the smile back onto his face.

They were all brought in for the final round of photos. Jeno tried to walk to the opposite end of the line from Renjun, but one of the directors pointed a finger and told him he wanted him and Renjun beside each other. Grudgingly, as if it were a chore, Jeno did so. Renjun, attempting to look natural for the camera, leaned against Jeno’s shoulder. Jeno stepped away, like Renjun was dirty, unwelcome.

Something lodged itself in Renjun’s throat, as though he was holding back a sob. It tasted bitter and unbearable.

“Jeno,” he said, low enough that only the two of them could hear it.

Jeno said nothing.

“Jeno,” he said again. “We need to talk.”

“Not now, Renjun.” The camera flashed.

“Then when?”

“I don’t know.”

Renjun resisted the urge to whip around, grab Jeno by the front of his shirt, and shout at him until he relented. Instead, he said, still quietly but underlined by fire, “You are going to talk to me _now_, Jeno. Don’t be a coward.”

As soon as the shoot ended, Renjun snatched Jeno’s sleeve and led him back into the nearby storeroom, which was filled with racks of clothes. He kept walking, far enough back that they had some privacy, figures blocked by hangers with puffy coats.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Renjun hissed.

“Nothing. I’m just doing my job, Renjun.” Jeno backed away, bumping into the protruding sleeve of a leather jacket.

“No, you’re not. You’re acting like I don’t even exist.” Renjun felt that lump in his throat again. It made it hard to say, “You can’t act like that after we -- after we _slept together_. Did it mean absolutely nothing to you?”

Jeno’s composure finally broke, and he gave a short laugh, which made Renjun want to punch him. “Oh, come on. Don’t pull that on me.”

“Pull _what _on you?” Renjun, infuriated, raised his voice. “Are you trying to tell me that I shouldn't have any expectations after something like that? I thought --” He quieted again, shy as he said, “I thought you liked me, Jeno. I thought you wanted to be with me.”

“You’re not being realistic,” Jeno explained slowly, as if he was speaking to a child. “What did you think was going to happen? That we would hook up and start dating? How exactly would that play out, Renjun? Would we sit everyone down in the living room and explain to them that we’re an item? Should we call a press conference and tell all of our fans, while we’re at it?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry you misunderstood, Renjun. But things aren’t easy like that.”

It was Renjun’s turn to laugh, silently, in complete disbelief. “What was realistic to _you_, Jeno? Sleeping with me, and then expecting it to never be mentioned again? You want me to just act like it never happened?” His whole body was hot, electric with anger. “I’m not one of your girlfriends. You can’t just use me and toss me out when you’re done. We see each other all the time. We live together. It didn’t occur to you that things were gonna be awkward? That it might completely fuck up our friendship?”

“No. It didn’t.” Jeno’s face broke into something more earnest, a crack in the mask. “You knew I was in a bad place. You knew I felt like shit. I wasn’t thinking straight. But you still went through with it.”

There was some truth in it, Renjun knew. But he was too hurt to acknowledge it. “So now it’s all my fault. Thanks a lot.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just… I wanted to feel better.”

“That’s all I was to you? A tool to make you feel better?” Carelessly, Renjun made a fist and swung it back, hitting the rack of clothes behind him and rattling them on the bar. “You _knew_ I liked you, Jeno. You knew it. You took advantage of how I felt.”

Tears sprung in Renjun’s eyes. Jeno bowed his head, not daring to look at him.

“And --” One tear spilled over, running down Renjun’s cheek and clinging at the corner of his lips. “You knew I’d never been with anyone before. You knew it would be special to me.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jeno said.

“I told you I was a virgin.”

“God, Renjun. That was years ago. I thought you might have gotten lucky at least once in all that time.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Renjun snapped. “I didn’t _get lucky_.”

“I didn’t know,” Jeno said again. He was forcing himself to remain calm -- Renjun could hear it in the strain in his voice, like the plucking of a string wound too tight. “We made a mistake, alright? Let’s just forget the whole thing. It’s over.”

Renjun didn’t feel like it was over. He still wanted to fight. But if they were gone any longer, the staff might get suspicious, so he forced himself to say, “Alright.”

Jeno reached out to mop at Renjun’s cheek with his sleeve. “You don’t want them to see you’ve been crying. Your makeup is ruined.”

Renjun slapped his hand away and walked in the other direction, tripping over the ends of a coat that hung into the aisle. He caught himself and, not wanting Jeno’s last memory of their conversation to be something so humiliating, pointed a finger in Jeno’s direction and said, “I can tell you right now. I won’t be making the same mistake again.”

\---

Renjun was used to Jeno leaving the dorm at night. It was usually around nine or ten o’clock, the sun already down, and he never announced his departure; the others could figure out pretty easily where he’d disappeared to. However, on the night of their argument, Jeno made sure to let Renjun know exactly what he was doing, without being asked.

“I’m going to Siyoung’s place,” he said, zipping his jacket.

“Great. Thanks for the heads up.” Renjun scrubbed harder than necessary at the bottom of his pan, accidentally splashing soapy water onto his shirt.

Jeno continued to hover by the counter, his eyes on Renjun’s hands as they gripped the sponge, tense with anger. “You’re fine with it?” he asked with misleading lightness, clearly trying to provoke.

Renjun squared his jaw and thunked the pan against the bottom of the sink. “I know we’re not dating, Jeno. You’ve made that abundantly clear. So do whatever you want.”

“Alright. Sorry for bothering you, I guess.”

_Always the victim_. Renjun rinsed the pan, set it to dry, and moved onto a dirty glass. “What do you want from me, Jeno? Did you want me to beg you not to go? Does it give you some kind of power trip? Is that your turn-on?”

“Oh, stop.”

“I just don’t get what you’re trying to prove,” Renjun continued. “I know it’s over. Do you have to rub it in my face?”

“I’m not rubbing it in your face.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” Frustrated, Renjun whipped around. The glass, slippery with suds, fell from his hand and into the middle of the kitchen floor with a tinkling crash. It shattered into pieces. One of them skidded and touched the toe of Jeno’s boot.

They stared down at the mess, completely silent. Jeno’s mouth was open, like he wanted to say something, maybe apologize. Instead, he walked away, out the front door, on his way to Siyoung’s apartment.

Renjun realized what Jeno was doing. He was drawing a line in the sand. Putting up another wall.

He took in a shaky breath and pressed a still-wet hand to his forehead.

Just then, Jaemin came in from down the hall, freezing when he saw the broken glass. “I thought I heard something break,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

Another breath, and this time it burned his throat. Anticipating tears, he made his way quickly around the shards and pushed past Jaemin to his room. He slammed the door, which bounced back open off the deadbolt instead of shutting, and threw himself down onto his bed.

Jaemin had followed. He came in after Renjun, closing the door properly with a soft click. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

Renjun covered his face with his hands, as if Jaemin could not already tell he was crying.

Jaemin bumped his knee gently against the side of the mattress. “Scoot over.”

“No,” Renjun said. He was ashamed at the thought of Jaemin in his bed, after he and Jeno had --

“_Scoot,_” Jaemin repeated, more firmly.

Renjun didn’t listen, so Jaemin pushed his way in anyway, wiggling under the covers. He pulled the other side of them, with some difficulty, out from under Renjun, and tucked him in up to his shoulders. “There. It’s like having a sleepover.”

Renjun could not bring himself to laugh. He bit his lip in an effort to quiet his crying.

Jaemin snuggled in closer, throwing his arm around Renjun’s middle beneath the blanket, and with his other hand, combed the hair back from Renjun’s forehead. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Tell me. Is Donghyuck picking on you again?”

“What?” Renjun uncovered his face so Jaemin could see his look of genuine surprise. “No. Of course not. We haven’t fought in a long time.”

“It isn’t my fault, then, is it?” Jaemin’s eyebrows curved in a sorry slant.

“Don’t be silly. It’s never your fault.” Renjun let himself relax into Jaemin’s touch. He should have known better than to try and push him away. He always felt better when they talked.

“Did Jeno do something, then?”

Renjun hesitated for a half-second too long. Jaemin noticed.

“What did he do?” he asked, voice low and serious. “Do I need to beat him up?”

“No. It’s not…” Renjun swallowed. “It’s not like that.”

“Hmm.” Jaemin pressed a thoughtful finger against his lips. “Where is Jeno, anyway? Did he leave?”

“He went to Siyoung’s place.”

“Naturally. You know, sometimes I worry about him. I mean, I guess it’s not really my business who he sleeps with. I just worry that it’s not good for him. Like he might break his own heart.” Jaemin looked at Renjun. “Is that what’s wrong? Do you worry about him, too?”

Renjun blinked, and another tear fell, from the corner of his eye towards his ear, cool on his skin. “Something like that.”

Jaemin’s breath caught in revelation. “Injun... do you like Jeno?”

It was true. It wasn’t the whole truth, but Jaemin knowing the whole truth would be dangerous. So Renjun, to try and sate Jaemin’s curiosity before it got him in trouble, nodded.

Jaemin’s eyes went round, full moons in the dark. “Really?”

Renjun nodded again.

Jaemin rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “God. I had no idea. For how long?”

“For two and a half years or so.”

“Since we were trainees?”

“Yeah.”

“_God. _I really never noticed. You were good at hiding it.” Jaemin found Renjun’s hand under the covers and held it. “I’m so sorry, Injun. It must hurt you a lot, to see him with other people.”

_You only know the half of it._

“I wish there was something I could do to help you.” He traced the lines of Renjun’s palm with his index finger. “I don’t even know if Jeno likes boys. I’ve only ever heard of him with girls.” A light bulb seemed to turn on in his head. “Hey, if you want, I could find out for you. But, sneaky-like. He wouldn’t know I was asking for you. I’d bring it up all casually --”

“You don’t have to do that.” _Jaemin, _he thought,_ you are about ten steps behind. Though I suppose that’s a good thing. _“It’s fine like this. I was just getting worked up over nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Renjun said. He inched down in the blankets so he could rest his head against Jaemin’s shoulder. Wouldn’t it be easier if he could choose who he loved? Wouldn’t it be easier if the one he loved was someone like Jaemin: open, honest, unafraid of loving and being loved? It would save him from a lot of suffering, that was for sure.

“You know…” Renjun found some solace in the dark, in the warmth of Jaemin’s body beside him. He felt comfortable enough to admit, “Sometimes, I think I’m always going to be lonely. That that’s just how I’m meant to be.”

“That’s not true, Injun.”

“It is.” He was convinced of it, after Sicheng, and now after Jeno. “Maybe some people just aren’t built to be loved. And it’s not tragic. It’s just the way it is.”

“But _I_ love you,” Jaemin said.

“That’s different. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I know.” Jaemin pressed his cheek against Renjun’s hair. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I mean it. You’re my favorite one, Injun.”

“Your favorite? Even more than Gayoung?”

Jaemin chuckled. His breath tickled Renjun’s ear. “Alright. You’re tied for first.”

“No ties,” Renjun demanded. “You have to choose one.”

With an exaggerated groan, Jaemin answered, “Fine. I choose you. Happy?”

“Yes.” Renjun turned his face up to kiss Jaemin on the cheek. Jaemin started giggling again. Renjun could not resist joining in.

They fell asleep like that, in Renjun’s bed, hands overlapping, forgetting the world for a moment.

\---

“What the _hell_.”

Renjun was jolted awake by an unhappy yell. It was lucky he was, because he’d forgotten to set his alarm. He crawled clumsily over Jaemin, out of his bed.

“Ouch,” Jaemin whimpered, groggy-voiced. “Watch where you put your knees, Injun. They’re really bony.”

“Sorry.” He opened his door and looked down the hall towards the kitchen.

Donghyuck stood, still in his pajamas, next to the refrigerator. “Who broke a glass? I nearly stepped in it.”

“Oh -- it was --”

“I did.” Jeno had opened his door, too, and was leaning against the frame. He must have arrived back sometime during the night. He caught Renjun’s eye with a sheepish expression.

“Well, come pick it up, dumbass.”

Jaemin appeared at Renjun’s shoulder, yawning. “What’s Donghyuck shouting about?”

The sheepishness vanished from Jeno’s face when he saw Jaemin in Renjun’s room. He stomped past into the kitchen, stirring a breeze that lifted the flyaway hairs from Renjun’s head.

Jaemin offered Renjun a sidelong glance, eyebrow raised.

Renjun followed Jeno into the kitchen.

The glass had made a smaller mess than Renjun had remembered, it’s memory amplified by his anger. Jeno knelt against the floor, gathering the largest shards in his palm, gingerly so as not to cut himself.

Renjun sunk down beside him and whispered, “You’d better not be thinking anything stupid.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw how you were looking at me just now. What, do you think I bedded Jaemin, too?”

Jeno didn’t answer, only moved faster, as if by picking up all the pieces he could put an early end to their conversation.

“That’s completely fucking insane,” Renjun continued. “Not to mention hypocritical. Get your head out of your ass.”

Jeno had stopped being careful. A shard slipped in his hand. Blood rose scarlet on his fingertip.

Renjun was so bitter he wanted to laugh at him. He wanted Jeno to hurt, because _he _had been hurt. Then he caught himself feeling that way, and the shame flooded in.

“Let me see,” he said, taking Jeno’s hand to try and fix it, to try and fix himself.

It didn’t matter anyway. Jeno yanked his hand away, and stormed off for the bathroom.

Renjun sat alone on the cold kitchen floor. The glass glinted, surrounding him with a hundred tiny reflections of his own face. He refused to look at any of them.

\---

Mark’s grandparents’ house was in the countryside in Gangwon. It was a large, pretty house with lots of rooms and a long clothesline in the backyard where sheets fluttered in the wind like flags. They had not seen Mark since he had been in the hospital, and perhaps would not have been able to see him now if not for an incident during an interview a few days prior.

The host had asked them about Mark’s health. Donghyuck had responded by looking directly into the camera and saying, “We wouldn’t know, as the company won’t let us visit him.”

From offset, their managers began waving their arms and shaking their heads, trying to signal for him to stop.

“You know, I think it’s really sad,” Donghyuck had went on. “What kind of people do that? Isolate a boy who just broke his ankle from his best friends?”

Renjun, Jaemin, and Jeno had shared a look of mutual shock. Jaemin had elbowed Donghyuck in the ribs, but he had remained resolute, chin raised and arms crossed.

“Perhaps we should move on,” the host had said.

After the recording, they had not been brought back to the dorms, but to the company building. The three of them had sat outside while Donghyuck was given the scolding of his lifetime behind a closed door. It had been loud enough that they could all hear it, rattling the glass paneling on the wall.

But somehow, his ploy had paid off. 

Presently, Mark sat in his bed. He was surrounded by things his mother had brought for him from Canada -- family photos, dog-eared paperbacks, his middle school yearbook. His belongings from the dorms had been moved there, too. Jaemin strummed absentmindedly at the strings of his acoustic guitar in the corner.

“Ah, how I miss the sound of you playing that thing at 2 AM,” Donghyuck sighed. He had weaseled his way into Mark’s bed, propped against the pillow, arm around Mark’s shoulders.

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Yes.” Donghyuck’s mouth made a little O. “I almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and fished out a marker. “We’ve got to sign your cast.”

“You really don’t need to do that.”

“Yes we do. That way once your get your cast off, you can break it into little pieces and sell our autographs for outrageous prices.”

Mark rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked in an almost-smile.

Donghyuck crawled to the end of his bed, leaned over Mark’s cast, and uncapped his marker.

“How’s your ankle?” Jeno asked quietly. He sat far away from Mark’s bed, hands folded in his lap, looking uncommonly demure.

“The doctor said it’s healing well.” Mark lifted his leg in demonstration, causing Donghyuck to swear as he smudged his signature. “It needs time, of course, but he said once it’s healed, there shouldn’t be any permanent damage. I’ll be able to rejoin like planned.” His fingers twitched, as if he was already itching to get back to normal. “How’s relearning the choreo going, by the way?”

Jaemin pouted. “Lame. It looks stupid with only four of us. All unbalanced.”

“Well, is your substitute leader doing a good job of keeping you in line, at least?”

“Substitute?” Donghyuck asked. “Who’s that?”

Mark turned towards Renjun, who had been staring out the window into the green of the countryside practically the entire time they were there, in an effort to avoid Jeno’s gaze. “I thought it would be you, since you’re the second oldest,” Mark explained.

Renjun startled in his seat. Everyone, Jeno included, looked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah. Technically, you’re the _hyung_.” Mark shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to be my sub-leader.”

Renjun did not feel like the _hyung_. He could barely function on his own these days, let alone preside over the others. He was too distracted, too distant. “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”

Mark frowned, but didn’t argue. “I guess you don’t really need a leader. You guys can handle things well enough for just a couple of months.”

“We _do _need a leader,” Donghyuck muttered. “It’s awful without one.”

Mark’s frown flipped into a flattered smile. He nudged Donghyuck affectionately with his toes.

The bedroom door opened, and Mark’s mother poked her head in, a woman with short hair, rosy cheeks, and a cheerful air about her. “I’m getting lunch ready, and I could use some extra hands, if you boys don’t mind.”

They all jumped up to help, except Renjun, because from behind him, Mark said, “Hold on a minute.”

He waited for the others to exit. Renjun stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Mark called him closer to his bed with a wave of his hand.

“What’s the matter?” Mark asked. “You look miserable. You look like you haven’t slept in days. Maybe years.”

_I had sex with one of our bandmates who then rejected me less than twenty-four hours later and has been toying with my heart the same way a cat toys with its prey before tearing its throat out._

“I think I’m just stressed,” Renjun responded.

“I shouldn’t have said that stuff about being the leader.” Mark shook his head, as if deriding himself. “I’m sorry that I can’t be there. It must be so stressful for all of you.”

“No -- I didn’t mean it like that,” Renjun said quickly. “Don’t feel bad. Breaking a bone sucks. Just take your time and heal properly.”

“Have you broken one before?”

“My arm.” Renjun resolved to push away all thoughts of Jeno, of his unhappiness, for Mark’s sake. He had to be strong, and he had to be positive, or at least appear it, if they were all to survive the coming weeks. “I had to have surgery on it, too. Wanna see the scar?”

“Sure.”

Renjun offered him his arm, pointing to the faded white line that extended vertically along the inside of his wrist.

“When did it happen?” Mark asked.

“Approximately two months before I auditioned at CZN.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I was practicing routines with a cast.”

Mark grinned at the image of it. “Man. You must have wanted it pretty bad, then, huh?”

_No. I only wanted an escape. And a boy with heart-shaped lips and a perfect smile who might’ve loved me, if I’d given him the chance._

Renjun did not say that. Instead, he said, “I wanted it more than anything.”

\---

He and Jeno had sex for the second time two days later.

It happened like this. Jaemin was hanging out with Gayoung. Donghyuck was having dinner with his parents. It was only him and Jeno, though avoiding each other was easy enough, since they’d both kept to their rooms all night, the tension in the air too palpable to withstand. Renjun exited at one point to use the bathroom, and on his way back down the hall, Jeno’s door opened, and the two of them nearly walked right into each other. They stood for a moment, staring. Renjun went to pass by, but Jeno stepped out further, blocking the way. The staring resumed.

The next second, Jeno was kissing him roughly on the mouth, his hands tangled in Renjun’s hair. Renjun found that Jeno’s kisses were the kind that were felt in the stomach, rather than the heart. That wasn’t to say his heart didn’t beat faster when Jeno kissed him, but more so that they resonated in the same place he felt hunger, the same place he felt guilt.

Renjun hesitated, but he kissed Jeno back. They stumbled backwards into Jeno’s bedroom, and it happened all over again, as if Renjun had not learned better the first time.

_(Biting down on Jeno’s pillow, leaving tear stains across its surface. It hurt, but it didn’t stop him from wanting more.)_

When they’d finished, he looked past Jeno, who was buttoning his jeans, to where Jaemin’s bed lay empty. It gave him a strange feeling, that what they did should not have been done there. He felt like a filthy secret.

Throwing his arm over his eyes, Renjun said, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Jeno collected his shirt from the floor and pulled it on over his head. Renjun watched as it swallowed the strong, muscular planes of his back.

“You’re not,” Jeno said.

“I am.” Renjun sat up painfully, gritting his teeth. “You only say that because you do it all the time. Don’t you ever regret it? Don’t you ever feel stupid?”

“Of course I do,” Jeno said. “I always regret it.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Because I need to.”

Renjun kept watching Jeno’s back, the way his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to hide. Maybe Jeno craved touch the same way that Renjun craved fans calling his name. Maybe it kept him from feeling worthless. Maybe it made him feel real.

Jeno’s face was sober, with a touch of fear -- the regret was settling in, just as he’d said. He’d let Renjun too close. It was only supposed to be sex. Nothing more.

“Get out of my room,” he said.

“I can’t walk,” Renjun complained. “Carry me.”

“No.”

Renjun lay back down in protest. “Look at that. You’ve rendered two of your bandmates immobile in one week.”

Jeno turned, and for a second, Renjun thought he was going to pummel him. However, Jeno only slipped one arm under Renjun’s naked shoulders, the other under his knees, and lifted him like one might lift a child who’d fallen asleep on the couch.

“You’re too skinny,” Jeno said, carrying him out into the hallway, through the door into Renjun’s room. “You weigh practically nothing.”

_Ah. _“You don’t like it, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jeno whispered. He set Renjun down on his bed, and for a moment, Renjun remembered why he loved him. And so long as he loved him, Renjun knew he would not be able to resist him. Even if he couldn’t have him the way he wanted him. Even if Jeno denied him his heart. He’d make the same mistake a thousand times over.

_I’m always going to be lonely. That’s just how I’m meant to be._

Jeno rose to leave. Renjun grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“Jeno.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t have to be serious. The two of us…” Maybe, if he wasn’t meant to be loved, this was the closest thing to it he could ever have. But it was better than nothing. At least like this, he could sometimes trick himself into thinking Jeno loved him, even if it was only behind closed doors, only when Jeno decided it was convenient or necessary. “If that’s how you want it. I won’t complain. I’ll be cold. I’ll be what you want me to be.”

“Cold?” Jeno stared down at him, expression unreadable. “I thought I said I liked you vulnerable.”

“You can’t have both,” Renjun warned. “You can’t ask for my everything, and then keeping pushing it away.”

Jeno stood still as a statue for a moment. A very pretty statue, Renjun thought, his stony-faced silhouette outlined against the orange evening sky of the window. It looked like fire surrounding him, like Seoul was burning. Renjun disentangled his fingers from Jeno’s shirt. He let him go.

Finally, Jeno nodded. Then he left.

Renjun pulled his blanket up over his head and shut his eyes.

When he woke up, he found his clothes set on his bedside table, neatly folded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hope you all don't hate me after this one (and hope you all don't hate jeno too much lmao)
> 
> several of you have reached out to me on social media and i really appreciate it!! you don't have to be afraid to talk to me, i love hearing from you!!!!! (though you should be warned that i'm Very Shy and Awkward To Talk To)
> 
> ty all again for reading!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	13. Chapter 13

Donghyuck once pointed out in an interview how Renjun had a preoccupation with mirrors. “There’s not a single day where he doesn’t stare at his reflection,” he’d said, playful smirk on his face. “I think he’s obsessed with his own face.” He’d proceeded to stand and do an elaborate impression, complete with waggling brows and a wink. Renjun had simply laughed, and when the host had asked him to explain, he’d answered, “Well, what else is a mirror for?”

There was some truth in what Donghyuck had said. Renjun did often find himself frozen in front of his mirror, but not because he was captivated by his own looks. Rather, it was because it made him feel a strange way, the same way he’d felt the first time he’d seen himself in his idol makeup. It was like he was disconnected. Like, when his reflection blinked, it was out of time with himself, though he knew that was not really the case. He would turn his head, try and catch every angle of his face in the light, hoping that one of them would be recognizable. But it rarely ever happened. Rather, he felt like he was floating, like he was a balloon pressing against the ceiling of his room, battered by the spinning of the ceiling fan; and his body, the image of it, was the one sitting in front of the mirror. He did not tell this to anyone, for fear of sounding crazy.

On this particular occasion, however, he peered into his mirror because there was a circular red bruise on his throat, produced by Jeno’s mouth. Renjun studied it, tracing its outline with his finger. He would have to cover it with some foundation. It dredged up the memory of him arriving in Korea, stepping off the plane. At the time, he’d had bruises on his neck, too, though those ones had been long and streaky from his uncle’s grip. Renjun felt as though he was moving in a permanent circle.

“Injun,” Jaemin said, pushing open his bedroom door. “Are you almost ready to go?”

Renjun quickly slapped a hand over his neck. “Yeah. In a minute.”

“Okay.” Jaemin did not move. He kept looking at Renjun, head tilted. “Is something the matter?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Injun,” Jaemin said again. “You can tell me, if something is. You’re my friend. You can talk to me about anything.”

When he said it, he sounded just like Sicheng.

Another circle.

“I’m fine. I really am.” There were some things he could not talk to Jaemin about. Even if he wanted to.

Jaemin hesitated, but shut the door.

The bruise felt like it burned beneath Renjun’s hand.

\---

The four of them sat lined up on the couch. There was not enough room for all of them, really, which meant that Jaemin had opted to sit half on the couch’s arm, half in Renjun’s lap, who permitted it because it was a special day for Jaemin. The drama he’d been filming for the past month would be airing its first episode that night. “Don’t have your expectations too high,” Jaemin warned them. “I only play one of the side characters… I’ll probably hardly be in it. Plus, when we were shooting those first episodes, I was so nervous, you can probably see it all over my face --”

Renjun pinched his side. “Hush. I’m sure you did great.”

“Is Park Yoori as hot in person as she is on TV?” Donghyuck asked. He tore open his bag of popcorn and stuffed an overly large handful into his mouth.

“She’s quite pretty, yes,” Jaemin responded, then lurched forward, crushing Renjun’s leg beneath him. “Shh! It’s starting!”

They all quieted and watched with bated breath.

It was a high school show about twin girls who like to switch places sometimes without anyone noticing. Then a boy falls in love with one of them, but he doesn’t realize it was actually her twin. Renjun found it all very twee, and nearly fell asleep halfway through, but he was jolted awake by Jaemin bouncing in his lap. “This is it! This is where I come in!”

He played one of the male lead’s friends. Jaemin was right, that he didn’t star much in the episode, but he got a few lines here and there. Renjun was surprised to find that he was a decent actor -- Jaemin was someone who never had to play a role in real life. He was always himself.

When the episode ended, they all broke into applause. Renjun wrapped his arms around Jaemin’s middle and said, “You did so good. The camera loves your face.”

Jaemin, who still held onto his residual nervousness, let out a relieved breath. “I’m glad it went okay. I hope all the fans like it.”

“They’ll love it,” Donghyuck said as he tipped the bag of popcorn upside down to collect the last of it in his mouth.

“I mean it.” Renjun placed his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder. “It was really good. You ought to be proud.”

Jaemin grinned and kissed Renjun on the cheek. Then he stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Welp. It’s getting late. Are you guys going to bed?”

“Yeah.” Donghyuck curled his back over the arm of the couch, letting out a long yawn. “Or else I’ll regret it in the morning.”

“I’m going to stay up a little longer,” Jeno said. Subtly, so no one else noticed, he slipped his hand onto Renjun’s knee.

Renjun watched it, the possessive flex of its knuckles, the pale blue vein on its back.

“Me too,” he said.

“Suit yourselves.” Jaemin retired down the hall to his bedroom. Donghyuck followed after tossing his empty popcorn bag onto the coffee table, too lazy to throw it out.

They stayed perfectly still, even after they heard Donghyuck’s door click shut. The TV continued playing, onto a soap opera with theme music that sounded like bubbles rising beneath ice.

Once he’d decided the coast was clear, Jeno was on top of Renjun, kissing him, pressing him down onto the empty couch cushion, already reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

“Your hands are cold,” Renjun objected between kisses.

“That’s why I’m trying to shove them down your pants,” Jeno responded. “To warm them up.”

“You’re a goat.”

Jeno laughed against Renjun’s neck as he went to place a kiss there. His fumbling fingers undid the button of Renjun’s jeans, slipping them down, exposing him.

When Jeno touched him, Renjun gasped. It was easier, now that he had taken his heart out of it. Easier to protect himself from the pain, to let the pleasure take control. But at that moment, Renjun was too distracted to properly enjoy it.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he said, swallowing a moan. “The other two…”

“We’ll be fine.”

“But what if they wake up?”

“Stop overthinking it.”

He couldn’t. It seemed to follow him wherever he went. They’d had sex in both of their bedrooms. Jeno had fucked him in the bathroom, against the counter, and Renjun had done everything to avoid having to look at himself in the mirror, because if he'd caught sight of the way he'd looked while Jeno had fucked him, it might have wrecked any small bit of self-respect he still had. And now, here they were on the couch, one of the last places in their dorm they hadn’t tainted.

Renjun stared off into the distance, somewhere past the television, no longer responsive. Jeno pulled back his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

"Who did you see last night?" Renjun asked. "Eunmi?"

"Hyojoo."

"Oh." Renjun kept staring, at the wall, at the place below it, where his and Jeno's shoes lay beside each other on the front mat. He kept staring, staring, anywhere but Jeno's face.

“I feel guilty,” Renjun finally said.

“What for?”

“Because…” He searched for the right words. “It feels like we’re betraying them. By keeping a secret.”

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping secrets.”

“I don’t care. I don’t like it. Especially keeping them out in the open. Like we think they’re too stupid to notice.”

Jeno fell back, off of Renjun, letting out a low huff. “Fine. Let’s go to your room.”

“Not tonight.” Renjun pulled his jeans back up and flattened his wrinkled t-shirt. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

Jeno was quiet. He sat with his face pressed against the back of the sofa, cheek squished, eyes glaring. He looked like a child denied a treat.

Renjun got up, trying to ignore him, making his way towards the hall.

“Renjun,” Jeno called after him. “Do you hate me?”

He froze. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what answer Jeno was looking for. “No,” he tried.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Renjun chewed his lip in contemplation. “Sometimes,” he admitted. It was the truth.

Jeno made himself smaller against the arm of the couch, and Renjun somehow found himself feeling sorry for him, reminded that the boy he looked at now was the same boy from the photograph on the bureau, the boy with the lost teeth and the unknowing, innocent grin.

Renjun did not allow the pity to fester. He walked away.

\---

Some spiteful part of Renjun had considered tearing the piece of paper Jeno had given him into slivers and tossing it away, but he knew he would find no catharsis in it. So he called the number on it, and set up ballet lessons with the instructor. CZN had adjusted his schedule to allow it, which was not difficult -- they had more free time these days with Mark still on hiatus and no comeback lurking. The instructor was a friendly, middle-aged woman with a slick bun and spindly, long legs. On their first day, she showed him to the company’s supply closet, down the hall from the studio spaces, and to his surprise, they kept barres inside, though they were dust-coated from disuse.

His body had grown unfamiliar with ballet after years of neglect. It took his several sessions to readjust. Their first few were so basic, he remembered learning the same things during his early lessons as a child: basic barre stretches, how to step, the different positions of his feet. But even such simple work reminded him of why he loved it. The grace in how lightly he moved, the gestural lines he made from finger to toe, the way it loosened the knots in his muscles, the knots in his stomach.

He began practicing on his other days, too. Though he enjoyed learning from his instructor, there was something freeing in dancing alone, exploring ballet outside of the confines of its rules. He spun, not caring whether it was proper form or not, one leg extended, one arm curled over his head, hand dainty.

Behind him, the door opened, and Jeno stood there. He folded his arms at his back and leaned against the wall.

“What are you doing?” asked Renjun.

“I want to watch you.”

Renjun did not want him to. Ballet was something that belonged only to him. He did not want to share it. He did not want to give Jeno the satisfaction of taking that part of him, too. But if Jeno had not given him the number, he would not be doing ballet in the first place, so finally he gave in. “You can watch,” he said, “but only if you’re quiet.”

Jeno dragged a finger across his lips, an imaginary zipper. Then he slid down the wall and settled on the floor.

Renjun tried to continue dancing as if Jeno was not there, though it was difficult to. He was more conscious of all his movements, and at the same time, distracted by the memory of when he was a trainee, alone in the studio, and Jeno had come in, just as he had now, watching him with a mild, indiscernible expression. If Renjun had not asked Jeno his name, had not allowed him to teach him that dance, he wondered if things might have turned out differently. Maybe he would not have fallen in love. Most likely, he would have given up on being an idol, having fallen apart under the pressure without Jeno to guide him. Somehow, it didn’t sound like such a bad thing.

He snuck a glance at Jeno’s face mid-twirl. Jeno’s cheek was pressed against his bent knuckles. He was not smiling, but there was a subtle softness in his eyes as they followed Renjun across the room, a look too easily mistaken for affection. A look like he would be perfectly content to sit there all day and watch. It was not the expression Renjun was expecting. Disarmed by it, he stopped dancing.

“Keep going,” Jeno said.

“No.” Renjun stared down at the floor, guarding his heart. “I’ve been here a while. I should get going soon.”

Jeno stood with a disappointed sigh. He walked over, close, too close to ignore. Renjun stepped away. Jeno stepped forward.

“I liked it,” he said, placing his hands on Renjun’s hips, tugging him nearer. “That kind of dancing suits you.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. It suits your body. Light. Delicate, kind of.” Jeno’s gaze flickered down, over Renjun’s neck, chest, abdomen, taking him in. “I wish you danced like that all the time.” He tapped a finger at the underside of Renjun’s chin, lifting his face so he could kiss him. It wasn’t Jeno’s usual sort of kiss. It was gentle, almost shy, letting Renjun set the pace. He took it slowly, trying to memorize the feel of Jeno’s lips and the way they made him so weak he trembled. Just as Jeno wished that Renjun would always dance ballet, Renjun wished that Jeno would always kiss him just like that, like he was precious.

He cupped Jeno’s face in his hands, trying to make the kiss last forever. But Jeno broke it, pulling away as he felt the cool metal of Renjun’s bracelet touch his cheek. He took Renjun’s wrist, holding it up under the studio lights, examining it. “What is this? It’s the same as the one Jaemin has.”

“He bought us matching ones for my birthday.” Renjun pulled his hand away, bitterness blooming once again in his gut. “Couple bracelets, actually. You would know that, if you had actually been there.”

Jeno kept staring at the bracelet. Renjun recognized that look. It was jealousy. Entitlement. He took a sick pleasure in knowing he could make Jeno feel that way.

“Do you like it?” he prodded, holding his wrist in front of Jeno’s eyes, hoping it hurt him.

Jeno turned and flounced out of the room.

Renjun twisted his bracelet. The bitterness sunk lower, becoming poisonous.

\---

Mid-July. Mark’s empty space was one that needed to be filled. CZN found other opportunities for Dreamchaser while they could not yet make a comeback. Jaemin continued to film the live-shoot for his drama. Jeno began to MC weekly at a music show. Everytime Renjun saw him on TV, he had to roll his eyes at Jeno’s cheesy, upbeat attitude. He was certainly good at faking it.

On one of those days, while Jaemin and Jeno were gone on their solo ventures, Renjun and Donghyuck were invited to guest on a radio show. The interview segment went simply enough: questions about dorm life (answered with half-truths), questions about their next comeback (answered with shrugs, which were whole-truths), and one offhand mention of Mark’s hiatus, which Donghyuck thankfully did not jump on this time. The host moved on to listener write-ins, which he pulled from a box.

“Here’s a good one,” he said. “Fan Eunkyung wrote: I’ve been a fan of Dreamchaser since your very first album. I know all the members are very close with each other, but was there ever a time when you weren’t? Do you ever get into arguments, since you have to be around each other twenty-four seven? Thank you, and I look forward to seeing you together as five again soon.”

Renjun did not answer right away. Their fans were being deceived -- if they only knew what it was really like at home, the kinds of awful things the members had said to each in the past, the awful things Renjun wanted to say to Jeno every time he slipped away from his arms into somebody else’s.

Meanwhile, Donghyuck snorted into his microphone. “Of course, we fight sometimes. It’s only natural. I think everyone has conflicts with their friends, no matter how close you are.”

“Do you have an example?” the host asked.

Donghyuck reached out and placed a hand on Renjun’s arm. “Well, the two of us used to bicker all the time. When we were trainees, and even after we debuted. We never saw eye to eye. We fought over all kinds of stupid things.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I think we just didn’t understand each other. Which is funny, because we’re really similar in some ways. I guess similar personalities can irritate each other. Like it’s a competition or something.” He kept looking at Renjun as he said, “I’m glad it’s not like that now, though. We became really good friends.”

“But only after I socked him in the face,” Renjun deadpanned.

“You punched him?” the host asked incredulously.

“He’s kidding,” Donghyuck said. But he looked at Renjun again and offered a little, secret smirk.

After the interview, they got permission from their manager to take a walk and do a little shopping. It was too nice a summer evening to waste, and they were inconspicuous enough with only the two of them, hats drawn low over their eyes. Donghyuck stopped at a booth and bought them crepes to eat as they walked.

“Can’t believe you aired our dirty laundry like that,” Renjun said.

“Well. It’s old news at this point. Plus, the fans will love the drama of it.” Donghyuck licked a speck of chocolate from his palm. “Still can’t believe we used to hate each other so much.”

“Yeah. It’s funny to think about now.”

Donghyuck threw his arm around Renjun’s shoulders. “You know, I still think you’re kind of an icy bitch. But I like that.”

“And _I _still think you’re kind of a snake,” Renjun responded. “But I like that, too.”

Donghyuck laughed loudly, turning a few heads on the street. Renjun shushed him and kicked the toe of his sneaker.

They found a little park and settled on a graffitied bench beneath an oak tree. There was a tiny heart drawn in black pen on its armrest. Renjun traced it idly with his finger.

“Donghyuck,” he said. “Why did you become an idol?”

The other boy’s mouth was full, but he spoke anyway. “What kind of question is that? Because I’m good at it.”

“I mean… how did you decide it? What moment made you want to audition?”

“Hmm.” Donghyuck swallowed, then immediately took another bite. He always ate like he was starving. “I guess at first it was because of my sister. She’s always been good at school. Like, really, really smart. I wasn’t like that. And it showed, since we’re in the same grade. She was top of the class, and I was right in the middle.” Donghyuck laughed, spilling crumbs into his lap. “I felt so dumb next to her. She told my parents that she was going to be a lawyer when she grew up. They were so impressed. I got all jealous, and I thought, ‘How can I one up her? What would really prove I’m just as good as she is?’ And so I decided to be famous. I was always a good singer. It was my one thing I could do well. So I took it and ran with it.”

“You did it for your parents, then?” Renjun thought that sounded terribly familiar.

“At first.” Donghyuck downed the final bite of his crepe. It left a smear of powdered sugar at the corner of his lips. “But nowadays, I don’t think like that. I do it for me. Because I love singing and performing. If I didn’t, I would have quit by now.” He crumpled his napkin and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “What about you? Why did you become an idol?”

Renjun had been trying to find the answer for that question for a long time now, but it still eluded him. The closest he could get was, “I think, maybe, for the fans. When they cheer for us… it makes me feel good. It makes me feel valuable.”

Donghyuck, sensing the serious tone, bowed his head, trying to find Renjun’s eyes beneath the brim of his baseball cap. “You don’t feel valuable otherwise?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed, the sound of it mixing with the rustle of the leaves above their heads, blown about by the warm summer breeze. “You can’t get all your value from what other people think, Renjun. You can’t build your life around other people that way. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

It was a little too late for that. Wasn’t that why he let Jeno do what he wanted? Because he’d built his life, built his identity, around loving him? But even now that he recognized it, it wouldn’t be so simple as to just let it go. He had nothing to replace it with.

“Who was it that taught you that?” Donghyuck asked. “Who was it that taught you you were worthless? Your uncle?”

Renjun winced at the mention of him. “He --” he started, not knowing what he meant to say. The word didn’t fade. It echoed. It stuck to him.

“Your uncle must be an awfully clever man,” Donghyuck said softly, “to be able to convince someone like _you _that you aren’t worth anything.”

Renjun looked at him, at the rare earnestness in his eyes.

He reached up and brushed the sugar from Donghyuck’s face with his thumb.

\---

Renjun had never thought of himself as a thief. He’d stolen before, but only when it felt deserved, such as the occasion of his fifteenth birthday, when he’d taken that wad of bills from beneath his uncle’s mattress. More than three years later, he still did not regret it. It had given him a sense of control, however brief. A sort of self-ownership.

He discovered Jeno’s hoodie beneath his bed. The deep burgundy one he always wore around the dorm, oversized so it’s sleeves cloaked his hands. It must have been kicked there by accident, during a brisk undressing, then gone unnoticed as they had fallen backwards onto Renjun’s bed. He only noticed it later because one of the drawstrings of its hood had poked out onto the carpet, its aglet catching the light with a dull, plasticy gleam. Renjun stooped to retrieve it, gingerly, like it was something to be revered. He lifted its front to his nose. It smelled of roses, and beneath that, smothered by the cologne, the scent of cigarette smoke.

He kept holding it, for a long time. Then he turned, opened the door of his wardrobe, and shoved the hoodie to the very bottom, concealing it beneath one of his winter coats. When he stole that hoodie, it made him feel like he owned Jeno, without realizing it was really the other way around. What it really meant was that Jeno owned him.

Later, he lay on the couch, legs crossed over Jaemin’s lap while Jaemin tapped at his phone. Jeno entered, walking in seemingly aimless circles around the kitchen and living room, scratching his head.

“Did you lose something?” Jaemin asked.

“Yeah… my hoodie…” Jeno rifled through their coat rack, a stray scarf tumbling down when he bumped it.

“I haven’t seen it. Maybe you left it at an event.”

“I just had it the other day,” Jeno murmured. “Renjun, have you seen it?”

Renjun did not look at him. “No.”

“Are you sure? I thought I might have left it in your room…”

“Why would it be in Injun’s room?” Jaemin asked. “You never go in there.”

“Oh --” Jeno caught himself, and said, “Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can never remember where I put things.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Renjun said, shifting and nudging Jaemin’s stomach with his knee. Jaemin placed a steadying hand on his thigh.

Jeno watched, eyes narrowed, before shuffling back down the hall.

Renjun smiled to himself.

\---

The red light from the display of Renjun’s alarm clock illuminated Jeno’s face in the dark. It made his eyes glow. It made the bead of sweat that still clung to his temple look like blood.

Jeno was the furthest away before sex, and the closest just after, like a camera going in and out of focus. Right now, it was close in, rendering him in perfect detail: every stray strand of his dark hair, the pores dotting his nose, the small scar that had formed at the bottom of his chin after his fall. Renjun took the opportunity to press himself against Jeno’s chest, bury his face at the crook of his neck, breathe. He had never really taken his heart out of things. He’d only been lying to himself. He knew that this, Jeno’s warmth, was still the thing he wanted most.

His hand roved down, tracing the line of Jeno’s breastbone, the layer of muscle over his ribs, the slight dip of his navel. It settled at the divet of his hip, the sharp V. Renjun didn’t know what that divet was called, or if it had a name, but it was his favorite part of Jeno’s body, aside from his lips.

“Jeno,” he said, mouth still at his neck, making his words muffled. “Who was your first love?” After sex was the only time he was allowed to ask these kinds of questions. It was the only time Jeno was vulnerable, which made sense -- sex was the thing that had broken him to begin with.

Jeno’s hand lay light against Renjun’s back, his fingers moving in small circles. It tickled. It gave Renjun goosebumps.

“You have to tell me, first,” Jeno said.

“That isn’t fair.”

Jeno tilted his head so his lips touched Renjun’s ear. “Tell me. Then, I promise, I’ll tell you.”

Renjun gave in, just like he always did. “It was a boy I went to high school with.”

“Back in China?”

“Yes.”

“What was he like?”

“He was kind,” Renjun whispered, trying to hide the stinging strain in his voice. “Kind, and talented, and passionate. He did so well at everything. Everyone was his friend.”

“What about you? Were you just his friend? Is that how he broke your heart?”

Renjun shook his head. “You’ve got it backwards. I think he might have loved me. But I broke _his _heart.”

Jeno shifted, propping himself on his elbow so that Renjun was beneath him. He leaned in to kiss him at the underside of his jaw, then said against his skin, “Why did you break his heart?”

Renjun inhaled sharply. It didn’t matter how many times Jeno touched him, it still felt like a jolt of electricity. Jeno kissed him again, and Renjun answered, “I didn’t know I was doing it. It was an accident.”

Jeno hummed softly, the barest touch of his teeth at Renjun’s throat. Renjun glanced back at the alarm clock. It was getting late. Time again for Jeno to push him away, pretend nothing had ever happened.

“You have to leave, don’t you?” he asked. “Before anyone notices.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Renjun reached up and lifted Jeno’s face away from his neck, so they were looking each other in the eye. “You made a promise. You have to answer before you go. Who was your first love?”

Jeno, unblinking, uncaring, his face still lit in siren-red, said, “I don’t have one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now you can ship renmin AND renhyuck instead of noren!!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	14. Chapter 14

Mark had his cast removed in the middle of August. When he walked in through the front door, Donghyuck pounced, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his middle.

“This seems excessive,” Mark said.

“It’s not,” Donghyuck responded, hugging Mark tighter and making him sway. “I hate sleeping alone in that room. I can’t fall asleep without your snoring as background noise.”

“Please get off of me before I fall over and wreck my leg again.”

Donghyuck reluctantly climbed down, but continued to cling at Mark’s arm.

Taeyong arrived a few minutes later with his arms full of take-out. “I’m treating you guys. It’s what you deserve after…” He celebratory grin faltered as he hefted the food in his hands.

Jaemin relieved him of a bag. “Don’t worry about it. You tried to keep us safe. It’s the company’s fault, not yours.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “There wasn’t anything that could be done. We should all just be happy that we’re back together again.”

Renjun watched Taeyong from across the room. He wondered if he was thinking about his own injury, the brace on his knee. He hadn’t considered how hard it might be to watch someone else go through the same thing. So as Taeyong shuffled backwards towards the door, Renjun said, “You better not be leaving. You’re going to help us eat all this food, aren’t you?”

“I --” He froze, and when he realized all the members were looking at him, finally gave in. “Alright. I’ll stick around.”

Jaemin cheered, lifted him around his middle, and half-carried him to the sofa.

A few minutes later, after swallowing a bite of fried chicken, Mark wiped his fingers on his napkin and said, “So, what have I missed since I’ve been gone?”

Renjun felt suddenly not hungry as he thought, _Jeno and I hooked up and have made out in the exact spot where you’re currently sitting._

“Not much,” Donghyuck answered. “We even waited to clean until you came back. We didn’t want you to miss anything.”

Mark narrowed his eyes at the filthy carpet. “I can see that, yes. Very thoughtful of you.”

Jaemin said something then, but Renjun was not paying attention because he caught sight of Jeno’s face across the coffee table. He was watching Mark almost nervously, like he thought at any moment Mark might stand up and shout at him, like Mark still held some residual hatred for what he had done to his ankle. It was ridiculous, of course; Mark held no grudge, not even on the day it had happened. But Jeno had convinced himself of it, Renjun thought, because maybe in some weird way, he wanted it. Like he felt he deserved it.

_Do you hate me? _Jeno had asked him before, in the same place they were now, the memory of it playing over the present like a faded film strip. And Renjun wondered if Jeno had wanted _that _hatred, too.

\---

Jeno kissed Renjun against the bathroom wall. His thumbs were hooked in Renjun’s belt loops, pulling him flush against his body. Renjun turned his head away to say, “Be careful. You’ll mess up my makeup.”

Jeno dragged a finger lightly along Renjun’s bottom lip, as if thinking how easy it would be to smear the pink pigment across his cheek. “I thought you wanted me to.”

“I do. But it’ll get us in trouble.”

With a smirk, Jeno kissed him again. They were supposed to be onstage in fifteen minutes, but Jeno had dragged Renjun into the bathroom and, not satisfied with the privacy of a stall, made sure they were the only ones inside before he locked the bathroom door. Renjun thought it might be Jeno’s way of killing his anxiety before a performance, like how some people downed a bottle of booze for the same reason. It was an apt comparison -- Renjun found that Jeno’s kisses made him tipsy, light, fearless.

Jeno’s hand slipped lower. Renjun snatched his wrist.

“We have to be out of here soon, dumbass. We don’t have time for that.”

Jeno sighed and leaned his forehead against Renjun’s shoulder, as if dreading the thought.

“The fans are waiting,” Renjun murmured. “What are you so afraid of?”

Jeno circled his arms around Renjun’s waist. He held him for a moment, not moving, not speaking. It felt to Renjun somehow more intimate than kissing. Like he never wanted another kiss, so long as Jeno held him like that. He reached up and softly stroked the back of Jeno’s head, uncertain of what it all meant but certain that he was in love.

The bathroom door handle shuddered. When the person on the other side realized it was locked, they knocked twice.

“I think that’s a sign,” Renjun said.

“Shit.” Jeno drew away reluctantly, hands lingering at Renjun’s waist. Then he checked himself in the mirror before going to unlock the door.

Renjun stayed where he was, and, like Jeno, glanced at his reflections, all of them, down the line of mirrors at his left. His lipstick had smeared ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth. He reveled in it for a moment, the messiness of it, then wet a paper towel and dabbed it away.

They’d finally had their comeback in November. Mark had been allowed a couple weeks to recuperate after his return and get used to dancing again. The company did not go all out this time, as they had with their last album. Back to basics, something simple, no flips, no theatrics. _Perhaps, _Renjun thought, _they learned their lesson. It only took a complete disaster for it to happen._

Their new title track was called “Lucky.” They’d already won a music show for it the previous week, which was an excellent way to be welcomed back -- nice to know, at least, that their fans had not completely forgotten about them. When they’d all come back on stage to collect their award, confetti cannons had erupted, spooking Renjun so bad he had nearly dropped the trophy onto the floor. Mark had been handed the mic from the MC. “We’re so happy for everyone who has continued to support Dreamchaser after our hiatus,” he’d said. He’d cleared his throat, and Renjun had realized he was close to tears. “I was sorry to be gone for so long, but I hope the wait was worth it.”

Donghyuck had reached up and tugged gently on Mark’s ear, trying to comfort him. Some fans in the audience had cooed at the gesture. Meanwhile, Renjun had noticed a piece of confetti stuck in Jaemin’s hair, and had told him to crouch a little so he could brush it away.

Jeno, on Renjun’s other side, had gone very still, and Renjun could feel his eyes searing like lasers, tracing the path of Renjun’s hand.

Presently, Renjun returned to their dressing room.

“Where have you been?” Donghyuck asked as his mic was fed down the back of his shirt. “I thought you ran away or something.”

“Went to the bathroom.”

“You were gone for a long time. Got the shits?”

“I was vomiting, actually.”

Donghyuck’s lip curled in disgust and he took a step back, nearly causing the sound guy to drop his mic pack. “Well, stay away from me, then. I don’t want whatever bug you’ve got.”

Renjun snorted, and thought that Donghyuck was way too easy to lie to, though to Renjun, that was certainly a good thing. It didn’t stop the guilt, however; Renjun felt it bubble uncomfortably in his stomach, and thought that maybe he was going to throw up for real.

The members lined up behind the stage door. Renjun fidgeted with the mic wires around his ears.

“Are you ready?” Jaemin asked him.

From outside, the fans roared, cheering their names before they even walked out.

“I’m ready,” Renjun said.

\---

Three weeks after their album came out, near the end of their promotions, Dreamchaser was called to a meeting at the company building. Renjun expected it to be a simple rundown -- they did this every so often, to make sure everyone was on the same page -- and was surprised when the meeting began with one of the marketing directors giving them all approving pats on the back.

“What’s going on?” Mark asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s good news,” the director assured him. “I’m surprised you guys haven’t heard of it yet.” He hit a button on his laptop, and their sales numbers appeared behind him on the TV. “‘Lucky’ had a recent boost in album sales and streaming numbers. It seems to be because of a fancam that went viral from one of your music shows.”

Donghyuck squinted at the screen. Once he read the numbers, his whole body gave a little shake, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Holy shit. We sold _that _many albums?”

The director’s smile had not stopped the entire meeting. “We’ve got a big hit on our hands. We’ve since been contracted by several companies asking to use your song in commercials.”

The members all looked around at each other, incredulous. It was their breakthrough moment, they realized. It seemed as though the song was called “Lucky” for a reason.

“Wait,” Jaemin said, holding up a hand. “You said it was a fancam?”

“Oh, yes --” The director pulled up a web browser, which had the video open on it.

Renjun sucked in a sharp breath when he realized it was a video of him.

“Lots of people in the comments are praising your visuals, Renjun,” the director said. “You’ve always been popular in China, but Korean fans been spreading the fancam around.”

A long time ago, Donghyuck would have spat something nasty in Renjun’s direction after seeing his success. But now, he scooted his chair close and gave him an amazed smack on the shoulder. “_Renjun_. You’re famous!”

“I thought I already was,” Renjun responded quietly.

“Now you’re _extra _famous!”

“You can all expect to be kept busy for a while now,” the director said. “We’re going to ride this wave while we have it. Congrats.”

They wouldn’t have a reprieve from promoting like they had thought, but no one could bring themselves to be bothered by it. Instead, they all placed their hands in the center of the table, one on top of the other, and shared identical, giddy grins.

\---

Jaemin entered the dorm on a Friday night looking like he did not know where he was. Renjun was fixing himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. When he heard Jaemin shut the front door, he said, “Hey. How was your date?” and Jaemin startled as if he had not expected another person to be there.

“Oh…” He blinked a few times, hard, and Renjun realized he was holding back tears. Then he rushed down the hall towards his room.

Renjun followed, knocking gently on Jaemin’s closed door. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

Jaemin responded with an indecipherable grunt.

“Can I come in?”

An affirmative grunt.

Renjun opened the door. Jaemin lay with his face pressed into his pillow, his shoulders heaving as he took shaky breaths. Renjun maintained his distance, almost afraid, because he’d never seen Jaemin look so upset.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he asked.

“Tea doesn’t solve everything, Renjun.”

“It might help.”

Jaemin sighed, and the fabric of his pillowcase poofed.

Renjun went back to the kitchen and fixed a second mug. When he carried them back with him, pushing the door open with his hip, Jaemin had readjusted himself, sitting up at the end of his bed, hugging his pillow. His face was red and blotchy, lips still quivering.

“Here.” Renjun passed him a mug, then climbed onto the bed beside him. Jaemin looked down into his tea, blowing on it to cool it, scattering the steam. A stray tear still clung in his eyelashes, and Renjun had not really noticed it before, but Jaemin had very long eyelashes.

“What happened?” he asked.

Jaemin squeezed his pillow tighter, jarring the tea in its cup, which rested on top of it. “Gayoung broke up with me.”

Renjun flinched, both in shock, and because he’d burnt his tongue. “_What?_”

“She broke up with me,” Jaemin said again. “We just couldn’t make it work. We’d barely even been able to see each other for the past month, with our comeback… and I guess there’s no point in dating if you never see each other, right?”

“I’m so sorry, Jaemin,” Renjun whispered.

Jaemin shook his head. “It was bound to happen. It’s impossible to date someone when you have a schedule like this. I don’t blame her at all. She should be with someone who has time for her.” He pressed both palms around his mug, trying to warm them. “It’s what she deserves.”

“Maybe, when we aren’t so busy -- when things plateau -- you can start seeing each other again,” Renjun suggested hopefully.

“Maybe,” Jaemin agreed. “It just sucks. She was the first girlfriend I ever had. Maybe it’s naive, but I really loved her, you know.”

“It’s not naive.” Renjun scooched closer and leaned his head on Jaemin’s shoulder. “She was lucky to have you.”

Jaemin let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t know about that.”

“It’s true, Jaemin. When you love someone, you love them completely. You mean it. You aren’t afraid of it.” When Renjun said those words out loud, he felt them like a kick to the gut. He wondered if he had fallen in love with the wrong person. He wondered, if things had happened a little differently, if he could have loved Jaemin instead. He looked at Jaemin’s face, the handsome slope of his nose, his bashful little smile at Renjun’s compliment. The thoughts racing through Renjun’s mind were dangerous ones. He looked away and pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the burn making it sore and scratchy-feeling.

Jaemin’s fingers tapped anxiously on his mug, like he was working out what to say next. When he spoke, Renjun felt the words before he heard them, resonating from deep in Jaemin’s chest. “I’m worried about other things, too, Injun.”

“Like what?”

“Sometimes,” Jaemin said, “I’m worried that we aren’t all as close as we used to be. Like, you guys are only friends with me because you have to be.”

Renjun bolted back upright. A drop of tea spilled over the lip of his cup, hot on his thumb. Hastily, he set his tea on Jaemin’s nightstand. “Don’t say that. Everyone is crazy about you. We’d fall apart if we didn’t have you.”

“It’s just --” His voice was hoarse like he might start crying again. “I’ve really noticed it lately. I thought me and Jeno were such good friends, but I feel like he thinks I’m a nuisance. He’s always looking at me this certain way, like he wishes I’d disappear.”

Renjun’s stomach dropped. Was it because he’d used Jaemin as a tool to make Jeno jealous? None of it was Jaemin’s fault -- he didn’t even know it was happening.

“It’s miserable, sharing a room with him,” Jaemin continued. “But it’s not just him. Injun, I --” He hesitated, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “You’re my best friend, but sometimes I even feel like _you _don’t like me. Like you’re keeping secrets from me, or you don’t trust me, or something.”

“That’s not it, really, Jaemin --” Renjun took his hand, squeezing it to ensure he knew he was serious. “I trust you more than anybody.”

“But you’re keeping secrets from me,” Jaemin said.

“Yes,” Renjun admitted. “I’m sorry. But there are just some things I need to have all to myself. Telling people stuff… it can be scary for me.” He curled close at Jaemin’s side, and was relieved to find Jaemin did not move away.

Instead, he sunk into Renjun’s touch. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I’m glad I have you,” Renjun said.

Jaemin sniffled, but smiled.

\---

Renjun knew he needed to talk to Jeno at some point. It was just a matter of finding a moment alone. The best time, of course, would be when Jeno was in his bed, but whenever the opportunity arose, he never worked up the courage to say what he wanted to -- Jeno’s touch weakened his will. So finally, one night, when the others had gathered in Mark and Donghyuck’s room to play games, Renjun poked his face in the crack of the door, eyeing the back of Jeno’s head.

“Jeno,” he said. “I need you for something.”

“For what?” Jeno asked, not bothering to turn around. He slammed a finger on a button, killing Donghyuck’s avatar with a perfect shot through the heart. Donghyuck, indignant, reached across Jeno’s lap, trying to snatch the controller from his hands.

“You son of a bitch,” Donghyuck cried. “Renjun distracted me. That isn’t fair.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“_Jeno,_” Renjun said again, more firmly.

Jeno cocked a curious eyebrow, then huffed and set his controller on the floor. He followed Renjun out into the dining room, but Renjun, afraid of their privacy being breached, dragged Jeno out onto the balcony and shut the glass door shut behind them.

“What are you so serious for?” Jeno asked, scratching the back of his head.

Renjun crossed his arms. “You’ve got to stop acting so miserable around Jaemin. He thinks you hate him.”

Jeno’s casual air faltered. “He said that to you?”

“Yes. He’s already having a hard enough time because of his break-up. So just be nice to him. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“How do you know that?” Jeno asked, defensive. “How do you know he hasn’t done anything wrong? Why do you automatically assume it’s my fault?”

“Because I know how you are, Jeno.” Renjun wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, chilled by the cool breeze that blew over the balcony, a symptom of the oncoming winter. “You’re jealous of him.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Jeno muttered. “Of course you’d take his side.”

Renjun narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“You’re so obvious, Renjun.” Jeno’s hands made fists, tense at his sides. “It’s so obvious that you’re in love with him.”

Renjun laughed in astonishment. “You’re kidding.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” Jeno raised one fist, opening it and gesturing in a broad swing, like trying to point at Jaemin through the wall. “You’re always right in his lap. You talk to him all the goddamn time --”

“You’re so fucking dense, Jeno.” Renjun slapped a palm to his forehead. He could not believe what he was hearing. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“You look at him like he’s the center of the goddamn universe,” Jeno snapped. “You do everything for him --”

“We could be like that,” Renjun shouted above the wind, which grew stronger, buffeting his hair. “We could be like that, but you won’t let us. You keep pushing me away, but you get jealous over every little thing. You say you don’t want us to date, but you think I owe you my exclusive attention. I’m so fucking tired of it, Jeno. I’m so sick of playing your game.”

Jeno was at a loss for words. Renjun felt a thrill because of it, a thrill at having shaken him.

“You know what?” he went on. “You’re right. Maybe I am in love with him. At least he’s kind, and considerate, and he makes me feel good about myself.” He wanted to drive the knife in deeper, twist it around and make the pain so bad that Jeno would never forget it. “Besides. Only a complete idiot could love _you_.”

Jeno’s face was stricken. Regret hit Renjun like a ton of bricks, knowing how badly it had hurt him, but he still whipped around and went back inside, slamming the sliding door shut behind him.

\---

When Renjun found out that he, Jeno, and Jaemin would be recording a promotional song and video together for a movie, he decided it was some sick twist of fate. “You three fit the image we’re going for, not to mention the fans love to see you together,” the producer told them. Taeyong reassured them that this was a fantastic opportunity -- Dreamchaser was big enough now that they were being sought out for advertising clout.

Renjun could not bring himself to be happy about it.

But it was not only the three of them. A member of CZN’s girl group, SUGARSWEET, which debuted a year after Dreamchaser, was also joining them on the track. Her name was Daeun, and when Renjun walked backstage at the music video shoot and saw her sitting in a chair, having her makeup done, he was shocked at how pretty was. She practically glowed. Milky white skin, fluttery eyelashes, long dark hair done in gentle curls. Then he remembered the first time he had met her. It was shortly before their debut, when the male and female trainees had done a shoot together. It was the same girl who had posed with Jeno and giggled at his flirting.

Renjun was less than unhappy. He was completely depressed.

It did not help that the song they’d recorded was so obnoxiously upbeat that it made Renjun’s skin crawl. They kept playing it on the set speakers while they got ready. Renjun wanted to stab his eardrums out with the pointed handle of the stylist’s comb.

The second he stepped foot in front of the camera, he was annoyed. Jeno and Daeun, already standing at their marks, were whispering to each other, heads bent low beside each other. Jeno, quickly and lightly so that it was almost imperceptible, touched a hand to her waist. She smiled coyly back.

Jaemin, on Renjun’s other side, also seemed to have noticed. He nudged Renjun with his elbow. “Just ignore them,” he said. “Let’s get this thing over with.”

Renjun nodded. But his eyes kept drifting back towards them.

Filming began. Renjun smiled like he always did, transforming back into the role of an idol. The choreography was blissfully simple for a change, but somehow Jeno ended up missing a step and bumping into Daeun. He placed a steadying hand on her hip as he apologized, which she seemed delighted by.

At one point, the director called them back to look at their footage. “This part here --” He pointed at the screen. “I think I want to switch some of your parts around so it looks a little more balanced -- are you two listening?”

Daeun silenced her giggle behind her hand, and Jeno drew away from where he’d been saying something against her ear. “Sorry,” Jeno responded, not sounding all that sorry.

The director gave them a hard stare, before continuing to explain.

Renjun felt his temper rising.

When they had a short break, halfway through the shoot, Renjun appreached Jeno, who stood next to Daeun at the snack table, and grabbed him roughly around the arm. “I need to borrow him,” he said carelessly in Daeun’s direction, not bothering to even look at her as he dragged Jeno away.

“You are the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met,” Renjun hissed. “You are so fucking immature.”

Jeno shrugged, and glanced across the room at Jaemin. “You have your boyfriend right over there. Why can’t I have a little fun?”

Renjun was one more word away from strangling the daylights out of him. “Your idea of _fun _is acting like a complete douchebag.”

“So what?” Jeno stepped closer, right in Renjun’s face, his voice getting louder. “You said it yourself --”

Jaemin, who neither of them had even noticed had come close, forced himself between them. “That’s enough,” he snapped, and Renjun was so shocked by the fury in his voice that he took a step back.

“It’s not any of your business, Jaemin,” Jeno said.

“It’s my business because it’s happening in the middle of our shoot,” Jaemin countered, jabbing a finger in Jeno’s face. “It’s completely unprofessional. The directors must think we’re a bunch of children.”

Jeno, ashamed, didn’t bite back.

“Stop acting like an asshole,” Jaemin continued, finger still raised. “You can’t be chasing girls when we’re supposed to be working. I don’t blame Injun for being fed up with you. You’re being a dick on purpose, because you know it bothers him. If you don’t quit it, I am going to kick your ass.”

Renjun’s jaw dropped.

“And _you --” _Jaemin whipped around, now pointing his finger at Renjun. He almost started ranting again, but thought better of it, casting one more contemptuous look at Jeno before taking Renjun by the wrist and leading him to the other side of the set, trying to find a secluded place. He pulled Renjun into the supply closet, hand slapping against the wall as he searched for the light switch.

“Injun,” he said, more softly than before, but still firmly. “I know all of this sucks for you. But you can’t let it get to you at times like this. We have other things we need to be thinking about. Like, you know, _our jobs._”

“I know, Jaemin, but he --”

“Injun. It’s been three years.” Jaemin ran a hand over his face. “I know you like him. But you’ve got to realize, at some point, that it’s just not worth it. He’s not going to come around. He’s just going to keep breaking your heart.”

Renjun wondered how Jaemin’s words could be so cutting, so incisive, without him even knowing the whole truth. He was right, but Renjun didn’t want to admit it. “You don’t get it,” Renjun whispered, voice trembling. “It’s not that easy --”

“I _do _get it, Injun. I’ve had my heart broken, too. It isn’t healthy to keep holding on and thinking that things will turn around somehow.” He placed a hand on Renjun’s shoulder.

Renjun tore himself away. “Don’t act like you know everything about it. Your situation isn’t anything like mine.” Perhaps Jaemin’s heart had been broken, but it hadn’t been toyed with, strung along. And it would be easy for him to find another girl, heal himself. It would not be easy for Renjun. The world would not allow it to be. “Stop pretending you understand how I feel. Because you never will.”

“I’m just trying to watch out for you,” Jaemin said.

“Well, I don’t need you to. Just leave me alone.” With that, Renjun shoved the door open and stomped back onto the set, but then he froze, because a few feet away, Daeun was handing Jeno a slip of paper with her phone number on it.

\---

The New Year came. Renjun dreaded the passing of time; it made him feel like his life was slipping away from him. But on the bright side, it meant that he and the other Dreamchaser members born in the year 2000 would turn nineteen that year, and that meant they could now drink.

They celebrated in in the back room of a hot pot place, out of sight from the public thanks to Taeyong arranging it with the restaurant staff. While Jaemin began to cook some strips of beef, Mark ordered drinks for the five of them. He, of course, had been able to drink for a year now, though he rarely did -- it was lame to be the only one drinking in a group. When the waitress poured Renjun a glass of soju, he sniffed it suspiciously, and reeled back at the stench.

“It stinks,” he said.

“Well, its appeal doesn’t really lie in its smell,” Donghyuck pointed out. He took a tiny sip of it, and his mouth puckered at the taste, though he tried to hide it behind his hand. Mark laughed at him heartily, shoulders shaking, before taking his own drink like a champ.

Renjun glanced at Jeno, who sipped at his own without reaction. Renjun sensed it was not the first time he’d had alcohol. His gaze drifted further down the table, to Jaemin, who seemed mostly uninterested.

“Aren’t you going to drink?” Donghyuck asked him.

“Just one glass. At least one of us has to remain sensible.”

Donghyuck snorted. “It’s not like you have to drive us home.”

“Yes, but I’d like to keep my wits about me in case one of you does something stupid.” He looked pointedly at Renjun, then at Jeno.

In response, Renjun shut his eyes and downed his glass in a single go. It burned his throat as he swallowed. He and Jaemin still had not made up, and though part of him wanted to just break down and forgive him, another part of him was too stubborn to allow it. Jaemin could act all high and mighty if he wanted. Renjun was going to try and enjoy the night regardless.

It only took a few minutes for him to feel the effects. His fingers tingled with a strange warmth, and his brain felt like a blanket had been tossed over it, dulling his awareness. Donghyuck, also on the verge of tipsiness, leaned his elbow on the table and said, “You know, I think I might like this whole alcohol thing. It makes you all easier to look at.”

Renjun giggled and pressed his forehead to the tabletop. Donghyuck slapped him on the back with over the top enthusiasm.

“Well, that was fast,” Mark observed. “They’re already losing it.”

“Amateurs,” Jeno said, typing something on his phone.

“Who are you texting?” Jaemin asked him.

“Daeun.”

Renjun’s giggles died. He lifted his head and banged his palm next to his empty glass so it rattled. “I want another round.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Jaemin warned.

Mark, not content with the party ending so early, said, “Come on, it’s his first night out as an adult. Let him live a little.”

Renjun clapped with glee when the waitress returned with another bottle.

Every time Jeno picked up his phone, Renjun took another sip.

“You know,” he said, words beginning to slur. “I don’t even think Daeun is that pretty.”

Jeno ignored him, while Donghyuck gave a stuttering little laugh and attempted to cover Renjun’s mouth with his hand, though his aim was terrible and he ended up smacking Renjun in the nose.

“Don’t be nasty,” Jaemin said through gritted teeth. “She’s a very pretty girl.”

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Renjun continued. “Her face is alright, but her body sucks.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jeno said coolly. He kept tapping at his phone, more aggressively now, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Renjun glared, tossed back the rest of his glass, and wiped his mouth sloppily with his sleeve.

“Well, the energy at this table fucking sucks,” Mark said. “What the hell is happening? Did I miss something?”

“He’s just drunk,” Jaemin said quickly. “He’s blabbering nonsense.”

“I’m not drunk,” Renjun protested drunkenly.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck piped up, completely oblivious to the tension. “We aren’t drunk.”

Mark sighed and slumped in his seat. “I wish to God _I _was.”

They returned home once they’d finished eating, and once Renjun had thrown back another glass. He had to plop down on the floor to remove his shoes, which took several minutes as he fumbled uselessly with his laces. They’d stopped at the store on the way to pick up some more bottles of soju for the responsible drinkers, and when Renjun tried to wriggle his way in at the dining room table and take one, Jaemin stood and said, “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” He put his arm around Renjun’s shoulders and guided him down the hall towards his room, while Renjun resisted weakly, tripping over his own feet.

Carefully, Jaemin helped Renjun to lay down, cradling his head in one hand. Then he attempted to remove Renjun’s coat, which he’d forgotten to take off himself, though Renjun made it as difficult as possible for him by squirming and whining.

“You are going to be so hungover in the morning,” Jaemin murmured. The sliver of light that poured in through the crack in the door lit his profile in gold. In Renjun’s deliriousness, he thought Jaemin looked like an angel, like one of those Christmas ornaments with the perfect, painted-on faces.

“Will you take care of me if I’m hungover?” Renjun asked.

“Of course I will.”

“Even though you’re angry at me?”

Jaemin sat at the edge of the bed and reached to brush Renjun’s hair from his face. It was damp with sweat. “I’m not angry at you anymore.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Renjun said. The alcohol had killed his resolve, made him child-like and forgiving. “You didn’t deserve it. Everything you said -- the stuff about giving up on Jeno -- it was true. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Jaemin said. He pulled Renjun’s blankets up and tucked him in, tight like a mummy. “Just go to sleep now. We can talk in the morning.”

“You’re the only good one.” Renjun’s words were blurred at their edges.

“I’m not the only good one,” Jaemin corrected. “You’re just drunk.”

“The only good one,” Renjun insisted. “You, and my mom. You’re the only good ones.”

Jaemin laughed. “I’m sure your mother is a lovely lady, and I’m flattered by the comparison, but there are plenty of good people in the world, Injun. Now go to sleep.”

Before Jaemin could rise, Renjun grabbed his wrist. “Wait --” he began, but didn’t continue. He wanted Jaemin to stay. He wanted to admire his pretty face a little longer in the dark. He wanted to turn back time to three years ago, and let it all play out differently.

Renjun wondered if it was possible to be in love with two people at once.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Jaemin said softly. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Renjun’s temple, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe how long this took me to write
> 
> hope u all enjoy drunk renjun
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	15. Chapter 15

Renjun decided he was done with Lee Jeno the day he broke the other boy’s glasses.

He didn’t mean to. When he found them, they were sitting on the coffee table, forgotten -- Jeno had a habit of leaving them everywhere. He wore them on the days he didn’t bother with his contacts, and Renjun always thought he looked good with them on, though also a bit like his father. He told Jeno this once, and Jeno had immediately removed them, resentful.

Renjun saw them sitting there, and for some reason his first impulse was to shove them into his pants pocket. It was the same impulse that had caused him to bury Jeno’s hoodie at the bottom of his wardrobe. Renjun liked that insidious sort of payback. He liked the way it felt to steal something from right under Jeno’s nose, and keep it as a secret, because how many secrets Jeno kept from _him?_

He entered his room and closed the door. Then he set Jeno’s glasses on his night table and lay down on his bed. The lenses, beneath the dim light of the window, reflected the image of the gray winter sky. Renjun could even see the clouds moving, touching one edge of the wire frame and then the other.

He shifted, sat up, so he could see his own reflection. There were two of him, one in each lens, staring back with impassive faces. He got that weird feeling again, the one where he couldn’t recognize himself, like his body or the representation of his body had been severed from the rest of him, as if by a guillotine. He flexed his fingers, and found he could not feel them. Only an all-consuming blurriness, like when one lays too long on an arm and cuts off the circulation, only he felt it all over.

Renjun bolted to his feet. His reflections watched him. He wrung his hands, kicked his bare foot against the side of his night table, trying to get some of the feeling back, but it didn’t work. His reflections watched, watched, watched, and he was scared.

He killed them. One hand slammed down hard onto Jeno’s glasses, crushing both lenses beneath it’s pinky side and the protruding bone of his wrist. He still didn’t feel it at first, but then the pain settled in, strong and undiluted, and it brought him back to life. He lifted his arm. Blood dripped down to his elbow.

Quickly, he tugged open his bedside drawer and pushed the broken glasses into it, leaving a streak of red behind on the tabletop. Then he hurried out of his room and into the bathroom, flicking on the faucet and thrusting his hand beneath the stream of water. The coolness hurt at first, but then helped to numb the sensation. His blood swirled down the sink in a spiral. He lifted his hand back out, examined it, tugged a lodged shard of glass out of his flesh and let it clatter into the basin, too big to be washed beneath the drain plug.

There was a quiet knock at the bathroom door, which swayed in a little as he’d neglected to close it all the way. “Injun?” said Jaemin’s voice, high and delicate. “Are you alright? I thought I heard a slamming sound from your room --”

“I’m fine.”

“Can I come in?”

Renjun didn’t respond, so Jaemin opened the door anyway. His eyes widened when he saw Renjun’s hand.

“What happened?”

“I broke Jeno’s glasses.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows flew up towards his hairline. “With your fist?”

“Yeah.”

Jaemin hesitated, but joined Renjun at the sink, gingerly taking his hand to examine the damage. Then he turned off the water and retrieved the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet.

“Injunnie,” he murmured. “I don’t understand it.”

“Me neither.”

“Why would you do something like that?”

Renjun winced as Jaemin pressed antibacterial ointment against the wound. With his other hand, Jaemin held Renjun’s up, their fingers half-entangled.

“I think I’m becoming like my mother,” Renjun said.

“Your mother?” Jaemin continued to dab at Renjun’s hand, not looking up from his work.

“She was crazy. She did all kinds of things that don’t make sense.”

“You’re not crazy, Injun.”

“I am.”

Jaemin didn’t seem to know what to say. Their hands still touched. There was a small drop of Renjun’s blood smeared across Jaemin’s palm.

“Me and Jeno had sex,” Renjun said.

It was so quiet, Renjun could hear the both of them breathing, and nothing else.

“What?” Jaemin said, the word a sharp exhale.

“I told you I’m crazy.”

Jaemin’s hand dropped away. “God. Injun, this is… when did it happen? When did --”

“The first time was last June.”

“_The first time_,” Jaemin repeated, in disbelief. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” Jaemin said. His eyes flickered around, like he was searching for even one coherent thought, something solid to cling onto. “I just… I can’t believe it. I’m shocked.”

“I know.” Renjun bent his fingers, relishing the sensation of being inside his body, the still-present pain in his hand. Telling the truth for once seemed to amplify it, and it was cleansing, comforting. “It was a mistake. And I think it’s over, now. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Jaemin sighed deeply, disapprovingly, but began to unravel the roll of bandages. Once he had enough, he tore it with his teeth, and began to wrap Renjun’s wound, gentle like he always was -- like Renjun was made of glass, like he was a cherished object.

“Sometimes, I wish it had been you,” Renjun said.

Jaemin, unlike before, did not seem surprised by this. He kept circling the bandages. “Why?”

“I think I might have been happier with you. You’re easier to love.”

Jaemin shook his head. “That wouldn’t make you happy, Injun. I don’t think loving anyone would be enough to make you happy. You’re looking for happiness in the wrong places.”

It was a sort of rejection, though Renjun’s admission hadn’t really been a proposition to begin with, so he supposed it didn’t matter.

“I don’t know where to look for it,” he said.

“Maybe you just need to take a step back, away from everything,” Jaemin suggested. “It might help you to figure things out, if you look at it with a clear head.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“And no more secrets,” Jaemin said. “When you keep them in the dark for too long, they grow fangs.”

Renjun nodded. He knew that better than anybody.

Jaemin taped down the end of Renjun’s bandage, then lifted it to his mouth in a kiss.

\---

And even if Renjun had not decided he and Jeno were done, Jeno had decided it himself. He had not approached Renjun, kissed him, brought him to bed, in weeks. It was a shock to everyone when he announced that, for the first time in his life, he had a girlfriend.

“I never thought I would see the day,” Donghyuck had said snidely from the backseat of their van, on the way to a shoot. “Jeno, actually seeing someone for more than a hookup. Am I dreaming? Is it an elaborate prank?”

Jeno, unamused, had continued to compose a text, surely to Daeun.

Jaemin’s gaze had flickered to Renjun.

Renjun had just untwisted the strap of his seatbelt, nonchalant.

Jeno did seem incredibly dedicated, especially considering the circumstances. They were so busy now that they rarely had a free moment, being driven from interview to interview, show to show. “Lucky” and that fancam had worked their magic indeed, and now they were the hot new thing, being asked to shoot ads for clothing retailers, restaurant chains, skincare companies. Jeno somehow still found time to date. Maybe he was really in love with her. Renjun tried not to pay it any attention, and admittedly, it was not difficult to do among the bustle.

He had more money in his bank account now than he’d ever thought possible. Naturally, he bought more plants. The dining room window filled up, covered in green leaves and terracotta pots.

They had a stray day off. Most of them slept in, aside from Jeno, who was never a late-riser -- he liked to get up early to go jogging or work out. He was standing at the sink, filling his water bottle, when Renjun got up. Renjun retrieved his watering can, then leaned against the kitchen counter as he waited for Jeno to finish. Once Jeno did, he stood aside and gave an over-polite gesture towards the sink to announce Renjun’s turn. Renjun wondered if it would ever stop being awkward between the two of them. _Maybe in a decade, _Renjun decided.

Renjun filled his watering can, while Jeno lingered, checking his phone.

“Surely you’re spending your day off with Daeun,” Renjun said lightly.

“Yup.”

“She must be pretty wonderful, if she’s the one you’ve finally settled on.”

“She’s a good person,” Jeno responded.

Renjun didn’t notice as the watering can began to overflow. When he finally did, he quickly shut off the sink, and made his way to the window, tipping the can to give the first plant a drink.

There was nothing to lose, Renjun realized, so he said, “I guess the thing I don’t understand is why it couldn’t be us. What was it that made you choose her?”

Jeno watched Renjun from where he still leaned against the kitchen counter, rolling his water bottle between his hands. “Because she isn’t a risk,” he said.

Renjun frowned. He knew what Jeno meant. If the dating rumor came out, it wouldn’t be good, but it wouldn’t end Jeno’s career. Daeun was a safe choice.

“I guess the other thing I don’t understand --” Renjun stood on his toes to reach the plant that hung in a cradle from the ceiling. “-- is why you’re doing this _now_. What changed your mind? I didn’t think you were capable of being happy with only one person.”

Jeno smiled, in an unusual, bashful sort of way. “I don’t like having Jaemin yell at me. It’s surprisingly scary.”

Renjun had to let out a tiny laugh at this. He knew what Jeno meant. Jaemin had such an impeccable moral compass that, when he called you out, you knew for certain you must be in the wrong. Renjun was still a little sore in the heart from when Jaemin had argued with him in the supply room.

“So I’m trying this new thing,” Jeno continued, “where I don’t act like a dick, as he so lovingly put it. You know. Just trying to be normal for a change.”

“Hmm.” Renjun noticed a bud growing on one of his cacti. He lifted it gently with his finger, trying to see what color it might be when it bloomed. “If only you could have done that half a year ago.”

“It’s hard to be normal when you’re an idol,” Jeno responded.

Renjun silently agreed.

When Jeno left, Renjun unburied the hoodie from the bottom of his closet, and placed it on Jeno’s bed.

\---

Renjun texted Taeil and asked to go out.

He knew Jaemin had told him he wouldn’t be happy searching for love, but it wasn’t as if he would find love at a bar. Besides, it felt imperative that he should do it, for no other reason than to prove he could, to prove to himself that there were people outside of Lee Jeno -- people who might be interested in him, but without the baggage.

Taeil picked him up outside the dorm at nine-thirty. Renjun had locked himself in the bathroom for a painstaking half hour, trying to make himself appropriately presentable: combing his hair, deciding it looked dumb, messing it up again and starting over. Then, he’d peeked down the hall to make sure none of his bandmates were loitering around, and run to the door, as if he was off to do something shameful.

When he slid into the passenger’s seat, Taeil looked him over and said, “Ready, kid?”

“Do I look ridiculous?” Renjun flipped down the mirror above his head and examined himself again. “I’m not good at doing my own makeup and stuff.”

Taeil plucked a pill from the arm of Renjun’s oversized sweater. “I mean, you could have chosen a slightly sexier outfit, if sex is what you’re looking for.”

“I like this sweater,” Renjun objected quietly.

“Sure.” Taeil shrugged and turned the engine on. “You look fine. You’re naturally cute, so you don’t really have to overdo it.”

Renjun blushed at the compliment. He was used to reading that kind of stuff in fan comments, but it was different hearing it from someone he looked up to.

“I need you to explain the whole thing to me,” Renjun said. “Like. Where we’re going. The process, and such.”

“You want me to explain to you how to pick up guys?” Taeil gave a chiding _tsk. _“It’s more intuition than anything, Renjun. It’s not really something you can learn. You just have to talk to people.” They hit a red light. Taeil tapped his fingers against the sides of the wheel. “We’re going to this one club I know -- they have a separate section in the back entrance, for… celebrities, I guess. It’s closed off from the rest of it, for privacy. It would be bad if an ordinary person saw someone like us there, but…”

_But if we’re all public figures, _Renjun thought, _we can’t out each other, otherwise we’d be throwing ourselves and our careers under the bus. _Hooking up under the threat of mutually assured destruction. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only safe option.

When they arrived, Taeil led Renjun around back, away from the exposure on the streets, where a metal staircase led up the rear side of the building. Renjun thought it was questionable looking, but Taeil walked up without a second thought, so he followed, listening to the slight creak of the staircase beneath his feet.

Taeil knocked, and a bouncer answered, who seemed to recognize Taeil, as he immediately stood aside to let them in. Renjun realized, then, why they were on the second floor -- the closed-off section of the club was a large balcony that might have overlooked the main area, except thick curtains were drawn over the railings, making it a semi-private lounge where they could exist unseen, but still hear the floor-shaking boom of the speakers from below them. It was crowded, with people dancing in the middle, and others grouped along the outer edges of the room, talking and drinking.

Renjun was so busy taking it in he almost lost Taeil, whom a couple men had come over and swept away, greeting him with hugs. “Renjun,” Taeil said, snagging his sleeve and pulling him over. “These are some of my friends. We’re all regulars here.”

Renjun bowed awkwardly, over-politely.

“This is his first time out,” Taeil explained to the men. “He’s a baby. Wants to be shown the ropes.”

Renun felt himself getting shy again, sort of the same way as when he’d been in high school and asked to sit at Sicheng’s table among the popular kids. Like he was dropped into the middle of a pre-established ecosystem, and had to figure out how to interact with people all over again.

“Actually,” Renjun said, “I think I’m gonna kinda do my own thing.”

“Are you sure?” Taeil asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you need anything, just text me. Or shout. I’ll be around.”

Renjun nodded, then made his way to the bar. It was lit by teal lamps that hung above it on strings, reflecting off of the liquor bottles that lined the wall behind it. He settled onto the cool leather top of one of the stools, which made high-pitched squeak beneath him, though it was almost inaudible amongst the chatter and the rumbling of the too-loud music. He glanced down the bar. There was a group of men who seemed to have come as a group, ordering a round of shots and cheering as they arrived. Beyond them, a couple were sitting with their heads ducked close to each other, an intimate conversation buried by the din. Renjun felt simultaneously completely alone and as if every eye in the club was on him. He tried to shrink and make himself unnoticeable. Then he remembered that the entire point was to be noticed, and forced himself to sit a little straighter.

A minute later, a body slipped in beside him at the bar. The first thing he saw of it was a watch-clad wrist laying itself on the bartop, and attached to it, a man, perhaps thirty years old, who wore a suit jacket and a white shirt beneath that with the top few buttons undone, projecting the image of “newly wealthy young socialite ready to spend his way into somebody’s pants.”

“Hey,” the man said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

_That was way easier than I thought it would be._

“Oh -- okay.” Renjun had never ordered from a bar before, and wasted several seconds looking around for a menu that did not exist before saying, “I’ll have whatever you have.”

What the man had was some kind of pinkish cocktail, laden so thick with sugar that Renjun recoiled at the taste. He couldn’t even find a hint of alcohol in it. It was like drinking Kool-Aid. He sucked lackadaisically at the straw and waited for the buzz to hit him.

“I’m Seungsoo,” the man said, running a hand through his black undercut. “What’s your name?”

“Renjun.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a singer.”

“You mean, like an idol?” Seungsoo leaned in, giving Renjun his full attention. Renjun scooted a little further back on his stool. “What group?”

“Dreamchaser.”

“I dunno if I’ve ever heard of them. I don’t follow idols much.”

Renjun shrugged. Frankly, that was preferable. The thought of being approached by someone who recognized his idol persona made him a little uncomfortable. “What about you?” he asked.

“I’m a TV producer. Ever heard of _Last Winter’s Lament_? Or _The Road That Led Me To You_?”

“Nope.”

“Ah. Well.” Seungsoo swished the ice around in his glass, looking put-out. “They’re pretty popular dramas.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure they are.”

Seungsoo took a long sip, which seemed to restore him. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

He let out a relieved breath. “That’s good. You look young. I thought you might have been a minor.”

Renjun raised a brow. “You thought I was a minor but you bought me a drink?”

Seungsoo, unconcerned, threw back the rest of his glass, then tapped on the bar for another. Renjun watched warily while trying to catch the top of his straw with his tongue. He gave up, pushing the straw aside and drinking from the rim, hoping it would get him drunk faster.

“So, are you a top or a bottom?” Seungsoo asked.

Renjun spluttered on his cocktail. A drop of magenta dribbled down his chin. “I, uh -- I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” Quickly, he made sure he still had his wallet and his coat, and hurried across the club.

Once he secured a stall, he pushed the toilet lid down, sat, and withdrew his phone from his pocket.

_Taeil. I’m really not sure if this place is for me. I might call it quits._

_what??? did something happen??? are you ok??_

_It wasn’t anything big. I was just talking to this guy and he asked me kind of a personal question and it got me nervous._

_do u want to leave??_

_I don’t want to cut things short if you’re having a good time…_

_it’s no big deal, i can always go out another time_

_Maybe it’s just because I’ve never been to this kind of place before. I don’t really know what I’m doing… everyone here is so forward._

_it’s all about having confidence!!!! ppl respond well to confidence_

_Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I’ll go back out and try again._

_renjun, if u rlly want to leave, we can leave_

He’d come there with the express purpose of hooking up. If a guy was coming onto him, what was he so nervous for? Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? Renjun gave himself a gentle slap on the cheeks, garnered his courage, and texted back:

_That’s okay, I’m going to try again. Thanks for the advice._

_let me know how it goes!!!! be safe!!! and if u decide u wanna leave just message me!_

Renjun took a deep breath, then exited the stall.

_Confidence._

He forced his way back in at the bar, where Seungsoo still sat alone in waiting, and asked, “Do you want to have sex?”

Seungsoo startled. “What?”

More loudly, to be heard above the music, Renjun shouted, “Do you want to have sex? With me, I mean.”

“Uh -- yeah.” Seungsoo looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

Renjun pulled on his coat. “Let’s go, then.”

Seungsoo said his apartment was just a couple blocks away, so they called for a cab. When they arrived, Renjun immediately deduced that it was a hoighty-toighty sort of complex, with a fountain inside the front lobby and a doorman who stood beside the elevator. Renjun pulled his coat collar up a little as he passed inside. The elevator buttons were circled in golden rings. Renjun wished they could leave the dorms soon, and he could have an apartment of his own. It would be better than having to rub elbows with Jeno everyday.

Seungsoo didn’t even flick on the apartment lights before grabbing Renjun’s face in his hands and kissing him. It had been years since Renjun had kissed anyone other than Jeno, and his kiss with Sicheng had been so chaste he felt it hardly counted. He couldn’t really tell if Seungsoo was a bad kisser or if he just needed time to adapt to another man’s kisses. One thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t really like the way it only took about three seconds for Seungsoo to shove his tongue down his throat. Even Jeno had the decency not to do that -- he was a romantic by comparison.

Seungsoo’s hands slipped down to Renjun’s hips and tugged at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up to grab at his bare skin. “God, your waist is so fucking tiny,” Seungsoo said against Renjun’s ear.

Renjun shoved Seungsoo back a little bit. “Stop talking,” he said.

Seungsoo, unbothered, kissed Renjun again on the lips, then on the neck. “Don’t get worked up. I only meant to say you’re cute.”

“I’m not kidding,” Renjun said flatly. “You’re turning me off. Shut up, or I’ll leave.”

Seungsoo seemed to get it that time, and obliged.

\---

The sex was not great. Of course, Renjun had little to compare it to, since the only person he’d ever had sex with prior was Jeno, but he was beginning to suspect that Jeno was probably pretty good at the whole sex thing, while Seungsoo was a big-talking sham just looking to get his rocks off. Renjun got dressed immediately afterwards, not wanting to stick around for the night, and called a cab to take him home.

On the way, he pulled out his phone and discovered that he had five missed calls and about a million texts, all from Taeil.

_renjun_

_where did you go_

_?????????_

_are you okay??? where are you??_

_i’m seriously worried_

_please just text me back_

_are you still at the club????????_

Renjun could not believe his own forgetfulness, and in a panic, typed back:

_I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you when I left. I’m okay. Sorry about that._

No more than fifteen seconds later:

_oh my god renjun i was worried out of my fucking mind, i thought i lost you_

_i was five minutes away from calling the cops and filing a missing persons report_

_I’m sorry, I really just forgot. I promise I’m okay._

_what the hell happened?? you left???_

_I went back to a guy’s place._

_oh my god????????_

_you hooked up with someone?????_

_Yes._

_oh my god_

_i’m still mad at you but also kind of proud??_

_holy shit_

_how was it?? was it fun?? was he a gentleman?_

_It was alright._

_did you get home okay?? where are you now?????_

_I’m on my way back to the dorms. I’m fine._

_if i ever take you out again i’m keeping you on a short leash_

_That’s fair._

When Renjun walked in the front door, it was 2:45 AM. The lights, unexpectedly, were on.

Jeno sat on the couch, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. The TV was on, but the volume was turned low to keep from waking anyone up.

“You’re still up?” Renjun asked stiffly.

“You know me. Incurable insomniac.” Jeno had gotten new glasses, after he’d determined his last pair unfindable. He pushed them up his nose. “Where were you, so late at night?”

“Went to a club. Then, to a guy’s place.” He waited for a reaction, some old part of him still wanting one.

“Good for you.” Jeno sipped at his tea. “How was the sex, on a scale of one to ten?”

Renjun found that old part, the jealous part, had died away right then. No point in embellishing things. “Like a three.”

“Did you at least get a free drink out of it?”

“I did. And I got to use the fancy hand soap in his bathroom.”

“Sounds like a worthwhile night, then.”

The atmosphere was strangely comfortable. Like, now that their relationship was over, the tension had dissipated, and they both realized how silly the whole thing had been. Renjun found that, for the first time in a long time, he looked at Jeno and didn’t see an antagonizer or a victim. Just a person, a boy in his newly returned burgundy hoodie and glasses that fogged from the steam of his tea.

Renjun sat down at the far end of the couch. It was quiet for a while.

“The reason I can’t sleep,” Jeno said, “is that, sometimes, I just can’t stop thinking. Like my brain is in overdrive.”

Renjun wondered if Jeno had ever been the one to speak first, to offer up the way he felt. That was another thing that had changed after they began to keep their distance. Renjun thought that maybe, distance could be a good thing. “Thinking about what?”

“Do you remember what I told you that time I taught you to dance? About how it doesn’t matter what instructors or peers think. How you should just dance like you’re on stage, dancing for your fans.”

“Yes.” Of course Renjun remembered. That had helped him to get over his nerves, knowing that the struggles of being a trainee were fleeting, and that those struggles would seem insignificant once they’d debuted.

“I used to really believe that,” Jeno said. “But that was before I’d gotten to dance for our fans properly. When I hear them screaming my name now, it doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel sick, half the time.”

Renjun was surprised. He wouldn’t have ever guessed it from the way Jeno performed, full of confidence, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. To Jeno, Renjun remembered, it _was _the only thing that mattered. Wasn’t that what his parents had taught him? That he was only worth something so long as he maintained his spotlight?

“Why?” Renjun asked. “Why does it make you sick?”

Jeno’s head dropped a little. He stared down into his cup, where his reflection looked back up at him from the surface of his tea. “Because I don’t deserve it. Them cheering for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Renjun asked incredulously. “Jeno. You used to train twelve hours a day. You skipped school to dance. You worked harder than anybody. Why wouldn’t you deserve it?”

“I think if they knew more about me,” Jeno said, “they wouldn’t want to cheer for me anymore.”

Renjun looked away. He’d had that same thought before. It was the kind of thought that started as a little seed, but grew, tendrils reaching, until it filled all of you, like a poison. The kind of thought that was irrational, but you believed it anyway.

“Jeno,” he said softly. “I always wondered -- did you want me to hate you? When we were together. Or -- I guess we weren’t really together. But you know what I mean.”

“I think so,” Jeno answered. He shifted, so he could face Renjun, legs crossed, arm sloped over the back of the couch as a cushion for his head. “I think I was afraid of the alternative.”

“The alternative? You mean, _love_?” Renjun laughed at the absurdity of it, and at himself, because somehow the absurdity seemed to make sense. “What a weird thing to be afraid of.”

“And it’s the same with the fans,” Jeno added, bringing it full circle. “That’s why I hate when they cheer for me. It scares me.”

Renjun wondered if Jeno would ever stop punishing himself.

Then he lifted his own hand, looking at where he’d applied fresh bandages that morning on the wound from Jeno’s glasses, and asked himself the same thing.

\---

Renjun stood at the center of the largest stage he’d ever seen. Larger than the one at the year-end show. It felt almost like it was swallowing him up.

They’d had their viral hit, and this was their reward. A three-night concert in Seoul, at a huge venue with lights shining from every corner, seats stacked to the ceiling. And if it was a success, CZN had teased the potential for a tour in their future, all through Asia, and beyond that, who knew?

Beside him, Donghyuck was tossing his mic up and down while he waited for the techs to finish set-up. “Can you imagine this place filled with fans?” he said. “Crazy. Mind-blowing, honestly.”

“Well, we only get to see those fans if we survive the rehearsals,” Renjun responded.

“I don’t know about you, man, but it takes more than a little dancing to kill me.”

“You are going to break your mic,” Mark warned.

Donghyuck tossed it again.

Mark snatched it away, which was apparently the reaction Donghyuck had been looking for, because he stooped over in knee-slapping laughter.

“Injun,” Jaemin said. He placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him around to the large screens that projected over the venue. The cameras had been turned on for testing, and Renjun’s face was displayed -- or it was, until he’d turned, and now it was showing the back of his head. It only really dawned on him right then how momentous the concert would be. How far they’d come. Jaemin grinned, and gave Renjun’s shoulder a little squeeze.

The camera panned to Jeno, who had not noticed it. Up on the screen, Renjun watched him, the way he had his eyes trained on his sneakers rather than the empty pit of the audience. Renjun waved a hand, catching his attention, and pointed up to the display.

Jeno looked, and flinched when he saw his own face. Then he looked away again.

\---

Renjun was in front of the mirror. The stylist finished with his hair, and stepped away from his chair, only to be replaced by Jaemin a few seconds later, who looked at both their reflections in the mirror.

“God. Only half-an-hour before we go out there, Injun. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Behind him, the backstage area was filled with people, technicians and managers who ran back and forth, transporting cords and cameras and clipboards. It was the first night of their concert. He was a little nervous, but he wouldn’t admit it. It didn’t matter, anyway. When he walked onstage, and heard the audience screaming, all those nerves would melt away.

“Injun,” Jaemin said, voice low and careful. “You haven’t had… another moment like that one before, have you?” His gaze flickered to Renjun’s hand.

“Are you asking if I’ve lost my mind recently?”

“I’m just worried, is all.”

“I’m fine.” He raised his hand in a fist and gave Jaemin a gentle bump on the chin. “That sort of thing comes and goes. And it’s gone, right now.”

“But it’ll come back.”

“Stop being such a worrywart on the night of our concert. Just smile like you always do.”

Jaemin did, though it seemed forced.

Before they went out, they gathered in a group, heads together, hands in the middle.

“You’ve got a good speech saved up for such an occasion, right, Mark?” Donghyuck asked.

“Actually, I’ve got nothing,” Mark said. “Honestly, I didn’t really expect us to get this far. I’m a little speechless.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I was _always _destined to have a concert. Though, in my imagination, it was just me. You know. The most famous soloist in Korea.”

Renjun smirked. “Pretty wild imagination. You can’t tell me you’d be happier up there alone.”

Donghyuck pinched Renjun’s cheek. “Guess not. Wouldn’t be the same without my darling Renjunnie.”

“Stop flirting, and let’s go,” Mark said.

With that, the countdown hit zero, and they all ran out into the lights.

\---

Renjun loved every second of it.

It didn’t matter if he was tired. His whole body was electric. The adrenaline carved every detail out in stone, even little things: the signs waved from the audience, the feel of his microphone in his hand, the way their voices echoed through the entire venue like they were shouting into an endless night sky.

Before the encore, they all changed into t-shirts and jeans, something comfortable to facilitate one last lap. They stepped back out, and the fans roared again. Renjun smiled, and found his cheeks were sore from having smiled for the past two hours, but it wasn’t enough to make him stop.

Their debut song was playing over the speakers, and Renjun remembered their very first performance. The feeling from then, like he was so happy he might burst, came back to him. It had never changed, not once in three years. It was one of the few things that hadn’t.

Renjun walked to the edge of the stage, crouching and waving at the fans closest to him. An elated scream moved through them like a wave, the sound of his name. He stood back up, making his way around, trying to reach every corner before the song ended, see every face.

He stopped when he saw Jeno, standing about twenty feet away. The brightness of the lights exposed the silhouette of his body beneath his white tee, the hard edges of his chest and shoulders. His eyes were sharpened by dark liner and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead, making him shine like crystal under the harsh stage lights. He smiled, though subtle, sad, like he wanted to disappear. Renjun thought it was the most beautiful he had ever looked.

It took him a long time to realize that the audience was still screaming, the noise having been pushed to the back of his brain as he watched Jeno. They were screaming his name, but Jeno’s too, high-pitched and layered: “Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno!” And suddenly, Renjun was not happy to hear their voices, because Lee Jeno belonged to _him_, not to them. He was angry. He was jealous. He didn’t want them looking at Jeno, convinced they knew the boy they saw, assuming he was where he wanted to be. Renjun wanted to hide Jeno away, where no one else could have him. Renjun wanted Jeno to himself.

The lights dimmed down as the song faded out. Renjun walked fast to the back of the stage, not slowing to say goodbye to the fans.

And once they were there, among the chaotic moving parts of the backstage rush, Renjun found Jeno and stole him away, behind the closed door to some prop room, clicking the lock and revelling in the solitude. He pushed Jeno against the wall and found his lips in the dark, kissing him for the first time in what felt like forever, and initially, Jeno kissed him back. But then he broke it, hands on Renjun’s face, holding him at a distance.

“We can’t do this,” he said.

Renjun’s heart trembled, beating unsteady like it might shut down at any second. “Why not?”

“You know why. I have a girlfriend.”

“You don’t love her,” Renjun whispered.

“I know. But that doesn’t matter.”

Renjun grabbed at the front of Jeno’s shirt. He could feel his chest beneath it, the warmth he wanted, so close he could taste it. “Break up with her,” he demanded, voice thin, about to break.

Jeno stared back at him, the barest bit of light touching his eyes from the crack at the top of the door. The voices of the staff were still audible from outside, and somewhere among it, Renjun thought he might have heard one of their bandmates calling their names, but he didn’t care, because right then, it was only the two of them, standing at the edge of _something_. Renjun didn’t know what that something was, but he was ready to dive off of it so long as Jeno went with him.

“Okay,” Jeno finally said.

Renjun’s heart shut down, then started back up.

Jeno leaned down, pressing their foreheads together like he was going to go for another kiss, but thought better of it. Still, the touch lingered a moment before Jeno tore himself away and exited back out into the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> renjun, at the beginning of the chapter: i am done with lee jeno  
renjun, at the end of the chapter: i am not done with lee jeno
> 
> hope u all enjoyed Flirting Extraordinaire, Huang Renjun!! also, not to overhype it or anything, but i’m Very, Very Excited for next chapter……. :) stay tuned
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	16. Chapter 16

Renjun peered out the plane window, where the wing scored the tops of the clouds, dragging their vapor behind it. It was still Korea beneath them now, but in a few hours time, it wouldn’t be. He was nervous, but hopeful, too.

Beside him, Jeno perched his elbow on the armrest, expression thoughtful behind his glasses. “Are you sure she wouldn’t be back at home?”

Renjun shook his head. “She was evicted a few days before… before the two of us were separated.” He spoke carefully, a little shy at the details. “The last place I know she was for certain is the hospital.”

“Hmm.” Jeno scratched his chin. In his other hand was his phone, mobile game open, which he tapped at only halfheartedly in his distraction. “But what if we get there, and the employees won’t say anything? You know how that stuff goes. It's all paperwork and jumping through hoops."

“I told you,” Renjun said. “When I talked to them on the phone, they said they could only divulge information if we met in person. I think if we just go there, they should be able to help us.”

Jeno shot him a skeptical glance, then returned full attention to his game.

Renjun had given Jeno only the vital information. In fact, he really hadn’t been keen on Jeno coming with him at all. But when CZN had told them, a few days after their concert ended, that they would have a week off for vacation, he knew Jeno’s alternative would be going home to his family; and Renjun would not subject him to that, no matter what. And he recalled that on their last break, he had been the one to impose on Jeno, so it only seemed fair to allow Jeno to impose on him this time.

He had decided to go back to Jilin because of what Jaemin had said to him. _You’re looking for happiness in the wrong places. _Renjun decided that, maybe, to find that happiness, he needed to find closure first. Hadn’t his happiness ended the day he had been torn away from his mother and sent to Wenzhou? It made sense that to find it again, he would have to go back to where that had all started.

His heart raced at the thought. He had been trying to decide what the first thing he would say would be if he saw his mother again. There were so many things he had wanted to say to her over the past few years, but now that the possibility of finding her was real, none of them seemed good enough.

Jeno lost at his game, and let his phone drop into his lap with an annoyed groan. Then, oblivious to Renjun’s nerves, he stretched, and when his arms fell, he let one of his hands touch Renjun’s knee, squeezing gently. “It’ll be nice, just the two of us, huh?” he said, voice dripping with implication.

Renjun wrinkled his nose and jerked his knee away, eyes darting around to make sure none of the other passengers had noticed. “Absolutely not,” he said, hushed to avoid attention. “We won’t be doing any of that sort of thing.”

“Huh?” Jeno leaned over the armrest, brows furrowed. “We’re going on vacation, _alone_, for a week, and I’m not allowed to touch you?”

Renjun raised his chin and turned his head pointedly towards the window. “Firstly, we are not alone, because we have a manager coming with us.” He gestured to the seat in front of them, where their manager sat, earbuds in. “Second, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it the right way this time. You know that if we pick up our old habits, we’ll just end up fighting again, right back where we started. So no, no touching.”

“Are you telling me you want to be wined and dined first? Romanced?”

Renjun snorted. “I mean, if you’re going to be my boyfriend, then yeah, a little romance would be ideal. But what I’m really telling you is that I want to start over. Clean slate. Take it slow.”

“Start over,” Jeno repeated, trying the words out to see how they felt. “I guess that’s not a bad idea. Fine, then. No touching.”

He had broken up with Daeun the day after their concert ended. Renjun had not really believed he would go through with it, but he had. The two of them had not discussed it since, but when Jeno had returned to their dorm on the evening of, he had approached Renjun in the kitchen and offered the slightest touch of their hands, pinkies brushing. Something like an apology.

“Well. At least you’ll have the opportunity to expand your cultural horizons,” Renjun said. “We can practice the phrases I taught you, if you want. Did you bring your flashcards?”

Jeno put his arm over his eyes, like a child throwing a fit. “No. I left them at home.”

“Jeno, how the hell are you going to navigate China if you haven’t even been practicing your Mandarin?”

“I have my translator right here,” he responded. His arm slid down, and Renjun could see the hint of a laugh in his eyes. “It’s not like I’m gonna be wandering around without you.”

Renjun rolled his eyes, but smiled, ever so slightly.

It was strange to be back with Jeno, but in a thrilling sort of way. Perhaps because the first time had not felt like the real thing. What they had now was fragile, a little egg with a delicate shell, which was why he was being so cautious -- it would only take one mistake to drop and shatter it.

They landed in Changchun. It was another hour of driving to get to Jilin City. On the way, Renjun attempted to make conversation with the manager who had been sent with them, who sat in the driver’s seat. He was also Chinese, which Renjun thought might give them a more immediate sort of comradery, but as it turned out, he was also extremely boring and responded to everything Renjun said with single word answers. Renjun might have chatted with Jeno the rest of the way, except it was awkward to do so with the manager right there, able to glance at them in the rearview mirror, and Renjun feared saying something that might give them away; so he listened to music instead, and watched the other cars pass by out the window. He was thankful, to say the least, that their manager would not be sharing a hotel room with the two of them.

When they finally got to the city, it was nearing dinner time, so they stopped at the market, buying skewered beef and a little box of dumplings, easy to eat while they wandered under the streetlights. Jeno stopped at nearly every stall, trying to take it all in -- it was one of very few times he'd been outside of Korea. Meanwhile, their manager walked a few feet behind, chewing at his skewer, totally silent. Renjun felt as though he was being babysat.

He began to search around for a gift for his mother. Not that he was getting his hopes up too much -- the chances of him encountering her before the end of their trip were still slim -- but if he did, he wanted to be prepared. There was a woman selling handmade jewelry, and Renjun stopped to examine a pair of pretty jade earrings, searching for a price tag before he remembered he had more money than he knew what to do with. The woman wrapped them in lavender paper and placed them in a bow-clad box. He put it in his jacket pocket.

When he turned back around, the manager was still hovering nearby, but Jeno was gone. _So much for not wandering around without me, _he thought crossly. He marched through the crowd, searching for Jeno’s familiar silhouette among the jostling bodies.

He was surprised to spot Jeno behind the front window of a flower shop. He was bent over the blossoms, adjusting his glasses to see them clearer. The shop owner was a tiny woman who kept shoving bouquets under his nose and making him smell them.

Renjun walked through the door, which jingled a bell above his head. “What are you doing?” he asked, watching as Jeno plucked a tulip from its vase.

“What kind of flowers do you like?” he asked.

Renjun’s cheeks warmed. “You’re not buying me flowers, are you?”

“Nah. I was just thinking that we’ve lived together for ages, yet I don’t even know what your favorite flower is.”

Renjun glanced around at the selection. He was more a fan of potted plants than cut flowers, because he’d rather help them grow than watch them slowly wither. Still, he answered, “I guess… I like yellow flowers.”

“Yellow flowers,” Jeno murmured. His eyes lit up when he discovered a container of big yellow daisies, like miniature suns, prettily packed together. He hailed the shop owner. “A bouquet of these, please.”

She came over but was unable to understand him.

“Renjun,” Jeno said. “Translate for me.”

“I’m -- I’m not translating that,” Renjun responded, face now burning hot, realizing he’d been tricked.

Jeno resorted to pointing and holding up fingers for numbers.

When they went back outside, Jeno passed the bouquet into Renjun’s arms. Drops of water still clung to their petals, and when Renjun smelled them, one transferred to the tip of his nose, surprisingly cold. He rubbed it off with his sleeve.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” he muttered shyly.

“You can put them in the window at our hotel.” Jeno smirked. “You said you wanted to be romanced. You brought this upon yourself.”

Renjun’s put-on irritation was betrayed by the way he cradled the flowers, gentle in his arms like they were a baby.

He put them in the window, just like Jeno said.

He kept looking at them from where he lay on the bed. Even though he kept tearing his gaze away, he still ended up back at those flowers, like they were the new center of his universe.

Jeno came out of the bathroom and slid under the covers on the other side. He stared at Renjun as Renjun stared at the bouquet, and he smiled.

“Lights off?” he asked.

“Lights off.”

It was dark. Renjun, no longer able to make out the flowers, rolled over so he could see the shape of Jeno beside him, instead.

“You’d better not be thinking of jumping my bones,” Jeno whispered. “That’s against the rules. I’d have to kick you out.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks for the heads up.”

“Of course,” Jeno continued nonchalantly, “since you’re the one who made the rule, you can change it.”

“Not a chance, but nice try.”

Jeno laughed. It rumbled through the mattress.

The stars flickered outside the window, above the bouquet.

“This is so easy, isn’t it?” Renjun said. “Being like this.”

The remnants of Jeno’s laugh disappeared from his face. “Too easy.”

_Easier than we deserve_, was what Renjun heard, underlining Jeno’s words, haunting them.

\---

Renjun sat in the back seat of the rental car, parked outside the hospital.

He lowered his head and peered out the windshield. It looked like pretty much any other hospital -- sterile white walls, rows of windows with the blinds drawn shut, neatly trimmed hedges out front -- but he couldn’t help but feel intimidated. Above, gray clouds were circling, carrying spring rain.

“Maybe you were right,” he said. “Maybe this is pointless. I’ll probably go in, and they’ll send me right back out.”

Jeno almost placed a hand on Renjun’s arm, but remembered _no touching _and withdrew it. “You came this far, Renjun. You have to at least try it.”

“Hmm.” Renjun’s eyes darted to where their manager sat in the front seat. He’d told him that the company knew they would be stopping here, which was a lie, but the manager had been too lazy to double check. Instead, he’d let out an uncaring grunt and drove them to the hospital without question. Renjun didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that CZN would not approve of their little detour if they found out.

“Alright,” he finally said, unbuckling himself and shoving the car door open. He tapped on the passenger’s side door of the front seat, and told the manager through the glass, “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“_We?_” Jeno questioned. “You want me to come in with you?”

Renjun had said it without thinking, but found he’d meant it. He would be less nervous if he had someone with him. “If -- if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” Jeno followed suit and got out of the backseat, and that time, he _did _place his hand at the center of Renjun’s back, a tiny, comforting gesture. Renjun allowed it for only a moment, then sucked in an anxious breath before walking ahead to the hospital entrance.

The lobby was empty, aside from the woman who sat at the circular front desk, who was tapping at the keyboard of her computer while popping bubbles in her gum. He approached, standing awkwardly in front of her, waiting for her to notice him there. When she didn’t, he piped up, “Excuse me.”

Her gaze flickered up from the screen. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. My mother was admitted here several years ago, and I’m trying to find some information about her…”

The woman cocked a brow and noisily smacked her gum. “We can’t just pass out patient information. It’s private.”

“I know. I called a while back, and the lady told me that if I came in person --”

“Do you have your birth certificate? Or something that proves kinship?”

Renjun paled. “I have my passport… I don’t have my birth certificate. Is there anything else I can do?”

The woman sighed and rifled around the papers on her desk. “You should really request a copy of your birth certificate. For now, I can give you a form -- fill this out and bring it back to us with a copy of your ID. It’ll take a little while to process --”

“I don’t really have time -- I’m only here for a week --”

“-- and after that, we’d need to contact your mother and have her consent to your request --”

Renjun’s heart plummeted. “How long would all that take?”

“I’m not sure. We may not even be able to contact your mother. When did you say she was admitted?”

“Almost five years ago,” he answered quietly, defeated.

The woman gave him a half-lidded stare, chewing slowly. “Well, if she’s changed her method of contact since then, we won’t be able to reach her. We probably can’t help you.”

“Please,” Renjun tried, though he knew it was pointless. “I don’t have any other way of finding her.”

She shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

Renjun felt as though he might start crying in frustration. He’d come all the way to Jilin just to have the door slammed in his face. He couldn’t accept it. It wasn’t fair, not after how long he’d waited, how hard he’d worked.

“You don’t understand,” he said, too loudly. “I just --”

Jeno, who’d stood a little ways back, came up to him and took hold of his elbow. “Renjun.”

“She said they can’t help me,” he told him, voice shaking.

“_Renjun_,” Jeno said again. “There’s no point in arguing over it. We’ll figure something else out. Let’s just leave.”

“No --” Renjun tore his arm away. “I won’t have another chance. I have to do this.” He turned back to the woman, slapping his palms onto the top of her desk. “Is there someone else I can talk to? Like, one of the doctors, or --”

The woman scooted back in her chair and tugged the phone off the receiver, thumb ready on the button. “I already told you. You ought to leave, or I’ll have you tossed out.”

Renjun was too rattled to retain his self-control. He began to cry. “But --” His elbow bumped a binder on the desk, sending it spilling onto the floor in a flurry of loose pages.

She dialed, and put the phone to her ear.

Jeno grabbed Renjun again and dragged him out the door. Renjun resisted, but Jeno was stronger.

When they were back on the sidewalk, which was darkened by rainfall, Jeno finally released him. Renjun found it difficult to breathe. He steadied himself on the front gate. That woman didn’t understand -- she hadn’t even _tried _to understand. How was he supposed to find his mother now? His last trace of her was a dead end. Raindrops wet his shoulders.

Hadn’t she seen him on TV? Hadn’t she seen his face in an advertisement? Hadn’t she searched for him, even one time, since he was taken away from her? Why was he the one looking for her, a needle in a haystack, when she should be the one looking for _him_? And it was so easy to do -- even just typing his name into a search engine would have been enough. Did she even care? Did she even still think of him? What if she had been happy to be alone? What if she had found a new family, a husband, a normal life --

Renjun reached into his pocket, pulling out the little box of earrings. He threw it onto the ground and stomped on it three times, grinding it into the pavement.

“Renjun.” Jeno pulled on his arm again, directing him back towards the car. “Stop it. Let’s get out of here.”

“Why hasn’t she called me, Jeno?” Renjun let another tear trickle over.

Jeno didn’t respond. He opened the car door, shoved Renjun in, then gestured to the manager to follow him back to the hospital.

Renjun sat alone with his head leaned against the cool car window. He was still angry. He drew his feet up onto the edge of the seat, wet shoes squeaking, and buried his face against his knees.

He didn’t look up, even after Jeno had returned, sliding in beside him. “You ought to be more careful,” he said. "You're lucky she didn't know who you were."

“What were you doing?” Renjun asked, voice muffled as he refused to raise his head.

“Making sure that lady didn’t call the cops. That probably wouldn’t be a great rumor to be circulating, would it?”

The manager, who was settling back into the front seat, clicked his seatbelt and said, “No more trouble. Hear me?” He shot Renjun a nasty glance in the rearview mirror.

“Alright.” The anger faded, the shame settled in.

On the way back to the hotel, Jeno ran his fingers through Renjun’s hair.

“I miss her,” Renjun said.

Jeno leaned closer, pressing their shoulders together, like he was shielding him. “I know.”

\---

They were sequestered for the rest of the evening. It was fair, Renjun knew, and it didn’t really matter to him, anyway; he couldn’t bring himself to do anything aside from curl up on the bed, hide beneath the covers, misery swirling in his stomach.

He drifted off at some point, made sleepy from heartache. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the flowers on the sill; then he rolled over, and saw Jeno sitting hunched at the desk in the corner of the room.

Renjun slipped gingerly out of bed, bones feeling heavy. “What are you doing?” he asked, walking up from behind, peering over Jeno’s shoulders.

In Jeno’s hands was one of the jade earrings, its silver hook bent.

“I was trying to fix them,” Jeno said. “You crushed them pretty good, but I think if I had some pliers or something --”

“You picked them up?” Renjun asked with hushed amazement.

“Yeah.” Jeno held the earring up higher, the bright lamplight turning them translucent, sea-glass green. “Didn’t know what they were, but I figured whatever it was, it was important. I also figured you didn’t really mean it, when you crushed them.”

“Jeno,” Renjun said.

“What?”

Renjun bent down, turning Jeno's face up with a hand, kissing him on the mouth, slowly, deeply. He’d missed Jeno’s kisses so badly, it had carved a hole out of him. Having a taste of them again, he realized that emptiness. He realized he was starving.

“What happened to ‘no touching?’” Jeno asked quietly, wide-eyed.

“Shut up.” Renjun pushed the chair out so he could climb up into Jeno’s lap, straddling him, kissing him again and again. Jeno dropped the earring with a tinkling clatter onto the desk, and wrapped his arms around Renjun’s middle like he might never let him go.

\---

“Tell me about your mother,” Jeno said.

“What about her?”

“I don’t know. What she’s like. Were you two close?”

Renjun watched the spinning arm of the ceiling fan above the bed. He imagined it to be the blade of a helicopter, turning in a constant circle, lifting him into the sky. The breeze it produced was cool on his bare shoulders, his collarbone, still damp with sweat.

“Yeah,” Renjun responded. “We were close.”

“Tell me.”

He swallowed, and shifted his fingers where they rested between Jeno’s. It was the only place they touched, bodies lying on either side of the bed, hands linked in the middle.

“She was good to me,” Renjun began. “Really. I always told people that, but they didn’t believe me, because she was crazy, too.”

“Crazy?”

“She heard voices and stuff. Imagined things that weren’t there. Ever since I was really little, but it got worse as I got older.” His eyes traced the fan. Around once, twice, three times. “She started taking pills. Sometimes, they made it better. They made her normal. But other times, she took too many, and they made it worse. Like the voices got louder, and she would forget where she was. She would look at me like she didn’t even know who I was. We called those the Bad Days. I’d always ask her, ‘Is today a Good Day or a Bad Day?’ I even made little drawings -- a smiley face for Good Days, and frowny face for Bad Days -- and she would put the proper one up on our fridge with a magnet, depending on how she felt.”

“What did you do, if she was having a Bad Day?”

“I took care of her. Brought her glasses of water and cooked her dinner and cleaned our house. I brushed her hair, too. She had the prettiest hair -- she kept it long, all the way to the middle of her back. She always liked it when I brushed it. It comforted her. I think it reminded her of being a kid again, like I was _her _mother or something, not the other way around.”

“That must have been hard for you.” Jeno gave his hand a little squeeze.

“I didn’t mind it. I was happy, most of the time. Except on her Really Bad Days. Those could be scary.”

There was a beat of silence. Renjun could tell Jeno wanted to ask him what he meant, but was too apprehensive.

“Remember what you told me once -- you told me that your life had two parts: before and after.”

“I remember,” Jeno answered.

“Well. I think my life is like that, too. The moment in the middle, the moment that split it into before and after, was a time when my mother had a Really Bad Day. When she broke our bathroom mirror.” Renjun’s hand drifted a little higher, untangling their fingers so he could trace the vein of Jeno’s forearm. “She’d locked herself inside. I’d kept pounding on the bathroom door and begging her to let me in. I was scared of what she might do -- she was talking to herself, and I could hear her tearing apart the sink and the cabinet, like she was looking for something. I guess she didn’t find whatever it was, and she was so distraught that she hit the mirror with her bare fist. It split her hand open, all along her knuckles. Then she must have realized what she’d done, and she started screaming…” He trailed off, the memory coming back to him and hitting him hard, like a punch to the gut. His hand froze over the crook of Jeno’s arm. “The neighbors heard her, and called the police. When they got there, I was hiding upstairs in my room. That’s when they decided she couldn’t take care of me anymore. And they sent me to Wenzhou, with my uncle.” He felt the gentle prick of tears in his eyes, but held them back. “So that’s it. That’s my moment in the middle.”

Jeno searched for Renjun’s hand again beneath the covers, relinking their fingers. Renjun realized he’d never told another person about it. He could have told Jaemin before -- he’d had so many chances, if he’d wanted to -- but it wouldn’t have been the same, wouldn’t have felt right. Not because he didn’t trust Jaemin, but because Jaemin wouldn’t understand it -- no, _couldn’t _understand it. Jaemin was a boy who grew up surrounded by love, never having to search for it. Renjun was not that kind of boy, and neither was Jeno. There was an equalness there, like he and Jeno stood on even ground, and that made Renjun think that if anyone could understand, it would be Jeno. And maybe that was why Renjun had chosen him.

He wanted to know about Jeno’s moment in the middle.

“Jeno,” he said. “When that man took advantage of you, how old were you?”

Jeno answered, in a whisper, “Nine.”

_Nine years old. _A decade ago. A decade of quiet suffering. Renjun let the tears spill over then, running warm down his cheeks and hitting the pillow. Jeno noticed and, incredulous, asked, “What are you crying for?”

“I don’t know," Renjun said, trying to hold back a sob. The tears only came faster.

Jeno kept looking at him, sidelong. His thumb passed over the cut on the side of Renjun’s hand, not knowing it had been produced by the lenses of his glasses. “I’m fine, Renjun. It was a long time ago.”

“I know.”

Renjun remembered when he had stayed at Jeno’s house, when they had laid -- Renjun on the bed, Jeno on the floor -- holding hands in the very same way. It was the closest he had ever felt to Jeno. Until now.

Then Jeno added, almost as if it was an afterthought, “It was so long ago, that sometimes I forget it even happened. But then, it’ll hit me all of a sudden, like a truck. When it does, it makes me feel…” He hesitated. Renjun could see that his eyes were circling the fan, too, as he tried to find the right way to explain it. “It makes me feel like I don’t belong to myself.”

Renjun wondered if Jeno even enjoyed sex at all. Or if it was some kind of test, like he was proving something to himself, proving he could still be “normal,” still have control. Like he had to wrench that control back from the man who had stolen it, reaffirm it through his carelessness and promiscuity, pretend it didn’t hurt. But at the same time, maybe he _wanted_ that hurt. And he was content to use sex as a blade to cut himself open over and over again, one slash for every mistake he’d ever made. His punishment, self-inflicted.

“Being an idol,” Jeno continued, “makes me feel like that, too.”

“Like you don’t belong to yourself?”

“When I’m an idol, I belong to _them_.” Jeno raised the hand Renjun was not holding, like he was sweeping it over an imaginary audience.

“What about right now?” Renjun asked. “Do you feel that way right now?”

Jeno finally let him go so he could then move closer, shifting so he lay above Renjun, looking down at him. Renjun reached up, pressed his thumb to the mole beneath Jeno’s eye, drew a line down his cheek till he touched the corner of his lips, the track of an invisible tear to match his own real ones.

“Right now,” Jeno said, “I belong to you.”

\---

In the morning, Renjun told Jeno he wanted to go back to Korea.

“You sure?” Jeno asked, sitting at the desk chair, sipping his coffee. “We still have five days left.”

“I’m sure. There’s no point in sticking around here.” Renjun stood at the window sill. He rubbed one of the yellow petals between his thumb and forefinger. They were still soft, a lot of life left in them. “But I want to make a pitstop first.”

“Where?”

“My old house.”

Jeno paused, coffee cup lifted halfway to his mouth. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I changed my mind. It might be the last time I ever see it, so…” 

“Okay. We’ll go, then.”

Renjun pressed his nose against the daisies, and breathed.

\---

Renjun stood outside of his house. Or, what was _once _his house. It didn’t look like anyone had lived there since he and his mother had left, though he understood why. It was not a pretty house. A very narrow two-stories, tucked so closely between its neighbors that there was no room for a proper yard on any side. Instead, there were two narrow concrete alleys, just wide enough that Renjun, if he turned his body and made himself flat against the wall, could slip through to the back; and the back of the building consisted of a tiny square of dead grass. Renjun, curious, did just that and slid around the building, leaving Jeno standing by the street. On that dead square of grass he was shocked to discover it looked just as it had when he’d left -- his rusted bicycle was still propped against the back wall, and beyond that were the empty pots that had been leftover from his mother’s plants, after they’d begun to wither. He’d used to come out back and dump their corpses and then, not knowing what to do with them, stack their pots in a pile. Presently, he toed one with his sneaker, remembering wistfully how lovely their ugly little house had been when it was full of flowers.

He looked up, and noticed one thing that had changed. The house’s back wall was covered in graffiti, so much of it that it had overlapped, the colors competing for attention. He tilted his head further, staring up at the window of the second floor. It was his bedroom window, the glass coated in dust, one pane cracked. He stepped back, trying to peer through it, as if he might be able to see the folded paper crane his mother had given him on his twelfth birthday still sitting on sill. But of course, he could not. Renjun stood and stared for a long time, thankful that Jeno did not follow, having the sense to give him a moment alone.

Finally, he exited back to the street.

“You good?” Jeno asked, standing close to him so their shoulders touched.

“Yeah,” Renjun responded. “It’s just weird to see it empty.” He glanced at Jeno’s profile, and wondered what the other boy thought of seeing the place where he grew up. He might have thought Jeno pitied him, except he knew that Jeno’s family had been poor, too, before he broke through. He felt that evenness again, like he had the night before; a comfort in being with someone who felt a bit like his mirror.

Jeno ran his fingers gently through Renjun’s hair, just as he had in the car outside the hospital. Renjun leaned his head on Jeno’s shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

Renjun startled at the sound, and hurriedly moved away from Jeno’s touch. Approaching from down the street was an elderly man, leaning heavily on a cane, wrinkles drawing his eyes down into narrowed but friendly crescents. When he came a bit closer, he examined Renjun up and down, expression pensive.

“I thought I recognized you,” the old man said. “You’re the little boy who used to live here.”

Renjun, shocked at being recognized, hesitated before answering, “Yes -- yes, I am.”

“It’s been an awful long time since I’ve seen you. You grew up a lot.”

Renjun realized suddenly that he knew the man. He’d lived several houses down from him and his mother, but at the time, he had not walked with a cane, and had not seemed so small and hunched over. “Mr. Chen?” Renjun asked, making sure his memory was not failing him.

“Yes, that’s right.” The old man smiled. Most of his teeth were missing. “Remember? I used to hand out popsicles during the summer, to all you kids who used to run around… seems like only yesterday.”

“I remember,” Renjun said. It did not seem like only yesterday to him. More like a million years.

Mr. Chen looked at the house. “It’s terrible, what happened to it after you and your mother left. Gone to ruin.”

Renjun nodded in agreement. “It looks all wrong. I would be happier to see someone else living there than for it to be abandoned like this.”

Mr. Chen chuckled. “Funny. Your mother said the exact same thing.”

Renjun blinked. “My mother?”

“Yes… she stopped by here… I can’t remember how long ago.” Mr. Chen leaned heavy on his cane, wrinkles deepening as he tried to remember. “At least a year ago, maybe longer. She was looking at it just like you are.”

Renjun’s breath caught in his throat. “My mother was here? And you spoke to her?”

“Yes. This was after the two of you left… I asked her where you were, and she said you’d gone away to live with family.”

Renjun nodded eagerly. “That’s right. Did she happen to say where she was living then? Or where she was going?”

Mr. Chen’s eyes narrowed further, straining to recall. “Yes. She was heading south… to Wenzhou, I think.”

“Wenzhou,” Renjun echoed. Gears began to turn in his brain.

“What’s happening?” Jeno asked. He’d remained quiet throughout the conversation, but jumped in after noticing Renjun’s expression -- lips parted, a light switching on in his eyes.

Renjun turned to him, and responded, “I think we’re going to Wenzhou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	17. Chapter 17

Renjun thought Wenzhou was the ugliest city on Earth.

Mostly, because it was home to the ugliest _man _on Earth.

He rolled up the car window. Even breathing in Wenzhou’s air made him sick.

Their manager had tried to shoot down his and Jeno’s plan, not wanting to have to make new travel arrangements; but Renjun had been so insistent (begging, whining, threatening to run away and buy a ticket himself) that it had eventually worn him down. And so, they booked a flight for the very next morning, and then had arrived that afternoon, wheeling their bags from inside the terminal to where the cabs waited outside.

Now, they pulled into the lot at the hotel, rode the elevator up, and found their room. Just one room this time, for the three of them -- after what had happened in Jilin, their manager seemed to no longer trust leaving them to their own devices. Renjun sat down on the end of his and Jeno’s bed, and pulled out his phone to try and figure out how far his uncle’s apartment was from this part of town.

“Only twenty minutes,” he told Jeno, examining the map. “So we could go today --”

“Go where, exactly?” the manager asked. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Well -- I wanted to stop somewhere --”

“Did you get the company’s approval on this one? Or are you lying to me again?”

Renjun bit his lip. Of course it hadn’t been approved -- after the last run in he’d had with his uncle, there was no way he’d get permission to visit him.

“If you want to go sightseeing,” their manager continued, “or go somewhere to eat, we can do that. But if you’re going to try and pull something again, you’d better think twice.”

Renjun deflated. He needed this. If only he hadn’t screwed up in Jilin.

The manager gave them one last warning glance, then went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Jeno sat down beside Renjun, and whispered, “Looks like we’re in timeout.”

“I can’t believe what a disaster this trip has become.”

“I know.” Jeno reached down to undo his shoelaces. “Well. What do you want to do? Any other places you wanted to go? Or we could just stay here --”

“Leave your shoes on,” Renjun said, placing a hand over Jeno’s. “I fully intend to go to my uncle’s apartment.”

“You know that’s not possible.” Jeno glanced up at the bathroom door, in case their manager might come back out. “He’ll kick our asses, not to mention what’ll happen when CZN finds out.”

“I don’t care,” Renjun insisted. “I didn’t come here for nothing. If I have to lie, or be a little underhanded, then that’s what I’ll do. Are you in?”

“Of course I am,” Jeno said. “I’m not gonna let you go by yourself.”

“Then just follow my lead.”

From the bathroom, the toilet flushed, and a few seconds later their manager returned.

“I’m hungry,” Renjun announced. “Will you go get me something from the vending machine?”

“You can go get it yourself,” the manager said. He peeled off his coat and tossed it on the bed.

“Really? I figured I wasn’t allowed to,” Renjun said slyly, “in case I try to leave or something. Aren’t we grounded?”

The manager rolled his eyes. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Ice cream. The melon kind.”

The manager turned towards the door.

“I would also like something from the vending machine,” Jeno called after him.

“What?”

“Cup ramen, if they have it.”

The manager _tsk_ed in annoyance. Renjun waited until he heard the metallic click of the hotel room door. Then he was on his feet, double checking to make sure he had his wallet, the room key, and his phone. “Let’s go,” he said.

“What if he catches us?”

“He’s an idiot. If he fell for _that_, there’s no way he’ll outsmart us.” Quickly, Renjun threw on his hat and his face mask -- if he was going to risk going in public alone, he wanted to at least make sure he wouldn’t be recognized. Jeno took the hint, and did the same, adding his glasses for good measure.

They quietly opened the door, and looked down the hall. Their manager was still on his way towards the vending machines, which were at the far end. His back was turned to them, and he was far enough away that he was out of earshot.

Renjun nodded. Then he and Jeno slipped away in the opposite direction, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator, racing down to the first floor.

\---

Renjun rapped his knuckles twice on his uncle’s apartment door. No one answered. He knocked again, then kicked at the bottom, jarring the door against its hinges. Jeno watched, eyebrows raised. Still, no response. Finally, Renjun shelved his manners and turned the knob, delighted at finding it unlocked.

The first thing to hit him was the smell of cigarettes, so thick he could almost see it, murky gray clouds rolling out into the hallway. He peered through them, flicking on the light. The apartment looked not much different than it had when he had lived there, only even more severely unkempt -- beer bottles lying empty in the middle of the living room floor; the laundry basket in the far corner filled to overspilling, a trip to the laundromat at least a week overdue; and dishes piled in the sink, fruit flies buzzing around them in a frenzy.

“Is he home?” Jeno whispered at Renjun’s shoulder, craning his head through the doorway. When he noticed the state of things, he drew back in disgust.

“Yeah.” Renjun entered, tentative, hating to even place his boots on the filthy carpet. “I can hear him snoring.”

He crossed to the bedroom door, which was cracked a dark sliver. He pushed it fully open.

When the light hit his uncle’s face, the man launched suddenly from lying out cold, to sitting alert on his bed, broad face flushed and eyes bulging. “Who the hell are you?” he yelled. “Get out of here --”

“It’s your nephew,” Renjun responded, tugging his mask down.

His uncle came to his senses and heaved a breath that made his bloated belly flop. “What the fuck are you doing here? You just let yourself in?”

Renjun could tell from the sticky, slow way his uncle spoke that the man was hungover. He was glad that he had not barged in when a woman was there; he wouldn’t have liked to unwittingly put her in a compromising position.

“I have a few questions for you,” Renjun said.

His uncle’s eyes darted up, past Renjun, to where Jeno still stood at the front door. “Who’s that?”

“A friend of mine. Don’t worry about him.” Renjun smirked. His uncle was less likely to do anything rash if he knew someone else was watching. “Do you want a moment to make yourself decent?”

His uncle swore in answer. Renjun briefly regained his manners and shut the door for him while he dressed.

“Is it okay for me to be here?” Jeno asked, hushed. “He’s not gonna call the cops on us for breaking in or something, is he?”

Renjun shook his head. “No. He hates the cops.” Then he sat down in his uncle’s armchair, out of pure spite. He rubbed the armrests with his palms, the musty green fabric scratchy against his skin. “Go grab a chair from the kitchen, Jeno. You don’t want to sit on the couch. It’s nasty.”

Jeno hesitated, uncomfortable in the cramped little apartment, but did as he was told, pulling a chair up at Renjun’s side and taking a seat.

His uncle came out, dressed in his stained polo tee and the slacks with the torn-up cuffs. He eyed Renjun sitting in his chair, vein pulsing at his temple; but then he looked at Jeno again, and manoeuvred around the coffee table to sit on the sofa. “What do you want?” he asked, and though Renjun didn’t believe he’d try anything, he could still hear an underlying danger in his voice.

“I want to know where my mother is.”

His uncle laughed, his horrible, hacking laugh, like an ill dog’s bark. “We’ve been through this a million times, Renjun. I don’t know where she is. Don’t you know when to give up?”

Renjun’s face didn’t change, remaining ice cold. He wouldn’t give his uncle the satisfaction of forcing even one emotion out of him. “I know that my mother came to Wenzhou. What other reason would she have, if not to look for me?”

“How the hell should I know? Probably shacking up with some loser, so she can squeeze out another baby to abandon.”

Renjun bit down on the inside of his mouth, willing himself to keep his cool. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeno glancing back and forth between him and his uncle, unable to understand, but sensing the hostility.

“We both know you’re lying,” Renjun said. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve tortured me for such a long time. Can’t you just spit it out now? Help me, for a change? It might make your life actually worth something.”

His uncle glared, bloodshot eyes like daggers. “Get out of my apartment.”

Renjun realized there was no use. His uncle was a sorry excuse for a man, and he would never be worth anything to him.

“Fine.” Renjun stood. “Let’s go, Jeno.”

“Are you sure?” Jeno asked softly, following suit.

“I’m sure. It was a mistake to think there might be a decent bone in his body.” Renjun turned to leave, but before he did, a cruel little thought occurred to him. He pulled his wallet from his coat pocket, and flipped past the yuan he’d gotten for the trip, to the back where his Korean bills were stuffed; and he pulled out a thousand-won, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it onto his uncle’s coffee table. “There’s the money you wanted so badly. I think it adequately expresses my thankfulness for everything you’ve done for me. Don’t spend it all at once.” Then he tapped Jeno on the shoulder, a signal to follow, and made his way towards the door.

Just before he stepped out, there was a horrible crash, like a window shattering, or maybe a mirror. Renjun whipped back around, and saw a dent in the wall, just a foot or so to the right of his head; and on the floor below, the glimmering amber shards of a beer bottle. He wondered what might have happened, had his uncle had better aim with his throw -- maybe their trip would have ended in the hospital. Quickly, Jeno stepped in front of Renjun, shielding him in case there was another attempt.

“You won’t find her,” his uncle roared. “I’ve made sure of it. It’s a pity -- she wanted to see you so badly, begged me to tell her where to find you -- so I told her. And she believed me, that gullible woman, when I said she would be able to reach you. But I made sure she would never get through.”

Renjun pushed Jeno lightly to the side, fixing his narrowed eyes on his uncle. “What did you do?”

“I told them -- I told those people at the company all about her. I told them about how she screwed you over. I _warned _them, that she was a danger to your image, and if anyone ever found out --”

Renjun’s body numbed. “You told CZN about my mother?”

“Of course I did. They ought to know, shouldn’t they?” His uncle gave a shit-eating smile, yellowed teeth bared. The look of a man who knew he had won. “Don’t you think they were wondering why you lived with an uncle, rather than your parents? So I told them exactly why. I told them about all the shit she did.”

“It wasn’t your business to tell,” Renjun snapped, unable to hold back his anger any longer. He wanted to march back across the room, drive his fist into his uncle’s face and feel the bones crack. And he might have done it, if Jeno hadn’t grabbed onto his coat sleeve, and said in the calmest tone he could muster, “Renjun. It’s no good.”

Renjun shut his eyes, breathed in the smell of cigarettes. Then, he gathered his dignity, and followed Jeno out into the hall.

\---

Since they knew they would already be in big trouble when they got back to the hotel, Renjun and Jeno decided they might as well extend their outing. So they stopped at a restaurant, and when they did -- sitting at a tucked-away booth, amongst the bustle and noise of the real world -- Renjun had the feeling again, the same one he’d had at the hotel in Jilin. Like he and Jeno were normal people, like he could pretend they were not idols for as long as they sat there, and despite what had just happened, his heart could be a little at ease for a change.

Renjun sipped at the broth of his noodles, which was still so hot it steamed. Jeno ate, ravenous, relishing that heat, and as he did, he reached across the table and touched Renjun’s hand, toying with his fingers; and if the thought crossed his mind that someone might shoot them a judging glare, he didn’t seem to care. Not that it mattered -- no one noticed them, inconspicuous in the corner.

“Renjun,” Jeno said.

“What?”

“Your uncle --” He dropped his chopsticks, letting them rest against the inside of his already nearly-empty bowl while he spoke. “Has he always been like that? Did he used to -- push you around, I guess?”

“Yes,” Renjun admitted.

“How long were you living with him?”

“About a year, I think.”

“Did he ever hit you?”

“Yes.”

Jeno rubbed his lips with a hand, thinking, then propped his cheek on his palm. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know that before we walked in. I might have killed him.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“I might have tried to.”

Renjun snorted. “If anyone was going to kill him, it would have been me. I deserve that catharsis.”

They quieted again. Renjun stared down into his bowl. Jeno nudged it closer to him, encouraging him to eat.

Instead, Renjun said, “I wonder why he did it, sometimes. Like, what he got out of it. Why he enjoyed hurting me like that. I never did anything to provoke him -- at least, I don’t think I did -- maybe I --”

“Stop trying to rationalize it,” Jeno responded firmly. “There are people who do things like that for no good reason. It makes them feel powerful, or something. They just like to hurt people who are smaller than them, who can’t defend themselves. So don’t try and turn it around or make it your fault. It’s _his _fault, and his fault only.”

“Okay.”

His food continued to go uneaten. Somewhere, in the background, at another table, he heard a baby crying.

“Do you ever do that?” Renjun asked. “Do you ever think it was your own fault, what happened to you?”

“Of course I do,” Jeno said. “All the time.”

“Then you should take your own advice.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m working on it.”

_Working on it_. Renjun wondered why it was that healing had to be such an arduous process, almost more painful than whatever had caused the trauma in the first place. Maybe it was because it meant second-guessing all his impulses -- impulses that told him he was to blame, that he got only what he deserved, that whatever happened to him had been fated, unavoidable. It meant not trusting himself, not trusting the voice in his head that told him he was worthless. In a way, healing was a sort of self-trickery; but maybe, if he did it enough times, it could become not a trick, but the real thing.

“I want to get better,” Renjun thought, outloud.

Jeno did not know what had provoked it, but it was almost as if he could understand, anyway. He tapped the side of Renjun’s bowl, and said, “The first step is taking care of yourself. And that means eating your dinner.”

Renjun did as he was told.

\---

They stopped at a convenience store before going back to the hotel. Jeno was picking out drinks at the cooler, while Renjun crouched in the snack aisle. He chose carefully, because it was a chance to share a little piece of his childhood with Jeno, a taste of growing up in China. He only picked candies he could remember counting the coins for in his tiny palm and bringing home to split with his mother, who opted to eat all the colors he did not like.

“You can have whichever ones you want,” he’d always told her. “If you like the red ones, you can have some.”

“But they’re your favorite,” she’d said, snagging a green from the bag. “It’s fine, sweetie. Being an adult means eating the candies your child doesn’t like. It’s what being a parent is all about.”

Presently, Renjun smiled at the memory, the warmth in her voice. He could still feel it, that warmth. It was faded, but it lingered.

“Excuse me.”

One of the store employees walked into the aisle, pushing a cart with products to refill the shelves. Renjun stepped down a little, snack selections crinkling in his arms. “Sorry I’m in the way,” Renjun said.

“No problem,” the employee responded.

Renjun blinked, thinking he must be imagining the familiarity of that voice.

“Sicheng?” he said, before he could stop himself.

The employee looked at him. Dark, earnest eyes. Heart-shaped lips. His hair was long now, long enough to be gathered in a short ponytail that curved up from the back of his neck; and he’d dyed it yellowy-blond, probably a while ago, judging by the way his roots were growing in. But still, there was no mistaking him for anyone else.

“Sicheng,” Renjun said again, certain.

Sicheng looked around, as if Renjun might be talking to someone else. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Renjun pulled his mask down and licked his lips nervously. “I --” He stopped, when he didn’t see the flicker of recognition in Sicheng’s eyes. Had he really changed so much that he couldn’t be identified? Sure, he’d grown up a lot, a few inches taller; he’d had his teeth fixed, no longer snaggle-toothed; and if Sicheng had been seeing him on the internet these days, he might have gotten used to the Renjun who wore makeup that smoothed his features over; but right now, he wasn’t wearing any makeup, so shouldn’t Sicheng look at him and see the person he’d known four years ago? Couldn’t he look in Renjun’s eyes, and see Wenzhou’s Renjun, the scared boy with the cast and the cheap clothes and the complete lack of social grace?

Sicheng just stared, mystified. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got to get back to work, so --”

“It’s fine,” Renjun said. “I just thought you looked like someone I knew.”

Sicheng pushed the cart into the next aisle.

Renjun realized, at that moment, that this might be the last time he would ever see Sicheng, and it was all the result of a stroke of pure chance.

He thought about following him, grabbing his arm, forcing him to remember. But he recalled the phone call, the night he’d arrived at the dorms, when he couldn’t think of any right words to say, and decided that still, after all that time, those words had not come. Not because he was still searching for them; but because the words did not exist at all, and never would. There was no coda to their relationship, no epilogue. Sicheng had a life now, and he was not part of it. And Renjun found, surprisingly, that he was okay with that.

“What are you doing?” Jeno asked. He walked up beside Renjun, their elbows bumping, fingers brushing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Renjun shook his head. “Nothing. Are you ready to go?”

“Yup.” He tugged the snacks out of Renjun’s arms and, smiling, said, “My treat.”

Renjun smiled back. He _had _found a bit of closure, going back home, though it wasn’t the closure he was expecting.

\---

They were back in Korea two days prior to the end of their vacation. This was not their decision, but the company’s, who found out about their little detour and yanked the rug out from under them. Of course, the company had found out about it through their manager, who was so angry when Renjun and Jeno finally returned to the hotel room that he yelled at them for a full ten minutes, then insisted on staying up all night and watching them in case they tried to run away again.

Renjun didn’t really care. He’d gotten everything out of China he could; there was nothing left for him there.

The next morning, he asked Taeyong if they could go to the company offices.

“What for?” Taeyong asked, finishing his breakfast. Renjun was always amazed at the intense cleanliness of Taeyong’s apartment, in contrast with Dreamchaser’s. It made him feel like they were still children in comparison.

“I need to talk to them about my vacation.”

“I heard you got in a bit of trouble,” Taeyong said nonchalantly. “Is this related to that trouble?”

“Maybe.”

Taeyong observed the tension in Renjun’s shoulders, his fists, and agreed to go with him.

\---

When they arrived, Renjun did not wait. He marched inside, up to the fourth floor, where the woman who kept his contract worked, the same woman who had been the one to field his uncle’s calls. He shoved open the office door, and the other workers glanced up at him from their cubicles, expressions curious. He ignored them, and went straight to her desk.

“Renjun,” she said, surprised, bending back away from him in her chair so it creaked. “What are you doing here? I didn’t ask to meet with you --”

“Has my mother ever called CZN?”

She froze, lips parted in an _o. _“Calm down, Renjun -- what’s happening? Is something the matter?”

“Yes,” he said. “Answer me. Did my mother ever call?”

She huffed and, in an attempt to blow him off, began to shuffle through the papers on her desk, as if she had other work to attend to. “Renjun, the company gets a lot of calls. If a woman claiming to be your mother called one of our lines, I might never have even heard about it. There’s no way to verify that kind of thing.”

“My uncle gave her your direct number,” Renjun accused, quietly, fury simmering under the surface. “She called you, didn’t she?”

“You spoke to your uncle?”

“Yes.”

The woman sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Fine, Renjun. Your mother called.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, almost a cry. The other workers were still watching him, like he was some kind of spectacle, a zoo animal gone loose from its cage.

“You don’t understand,” she answered. She took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes, too, as if exhausted. “Your mother was court ordered to attend rehab and a mental institution. She was deemed unfit to raise a child by the government. Do you know what kind of issues that might cause if the news got out? How it might affect your career?”

“I don’t care about that.” The words were clumsily spilt, tripped up by a lump in his throat.

“I didn’t choose it, Renjun.” She set her glasses on her desk with a gentle thud. “The legal department agreed that it was too dangerous to allow her to contact you. She had no right to, anyway -- technically, she isn’t your guardian, not after she lost custody. She has no legal right to see you.”

“My uncle told you all of this,” Renjun said.

“Yes. And I know your uncle is not someone the company wants to associate with, either, not after what happened when he visited here. But he was right. Your mother is a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I just want to see her.” His voice cracked, sharp with hurt. “Just one time.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I… I can try to do something, Renjun. I can talk with our legal department again. Maybe they’ll change their minds.” 

_An empty promise, _Renjun thought.

“But I hope you can understand why it had to be this way.” She replaced her glasses, pushing them up on her nose. “It wasn’t to spite you.”

Renjun did not care if it was spite or not. He turned around, and stormed out the door.

\---

He managed to hold back his tears in front of Taeyong, in the car, all the ride home from the office.

“Are you alright?” Taeyong had asked him, shifting around to look at him from the front seat.

“I’m great,” Renjun had answered miserably. He’d gone to stare pointedly out the car window, but then he’d seen his reflection in it, eyes wide as if he was a frightened little boy, and had forced himself to stare at the floor of the car instead.

The tears broke through as soon as he walked into the dorm.

He didn’t beeline for his bedroom like he might have done a week ago. Instead, he knocked on Jeno’s door.

“What happened?” Jeno asked. He saw the teartracks, the way Renjun was beginning to blubber, and pulled him to his chest in a hug, a gesture so distinctly un-Jeno-like that Renjun thought for a moment he was imagining it. Once he’d determined it was the real thing, he leaned into it, knotting his fingers into Jeno’s shirt, burying his face into his collar.

“I hate this,” Renjun sobbed. “I can’t do it anymore, Jeno. I’m done.”

“What are you talking about?” Jeno murmured. He pressed his lips lightly to the top of Renjun’s head.

“I can’t live like this. They want me to be two things at once. They want me to sing and smile and act like nothing’s wrong, but they won’t let me be happy. They won’t let me see her.”

“They said that? That you can’t see her?”

“She called.” Renjun pulled back, looking up into Jeno’s face. “She called, but they turned her away. Jeno, I could have seen her, all this time, but they ruined it. I could have been _happy _\--”

“Renjun.” Jeno cupped Renjun’s cheeks, brushing at his tears. “She _called _you. That’s got to count for something, right?”

Renjun didn’t understand at first, but then he realized. She had never abandoned him. All the times he had doubted her, convinced himself that she had moved on, he had been wrong. She wanted to see him just as much as he wanted to see her. And there was the smallest bit of comfort in that.

He lowered his head again. Jeno’s arms were strong, warm, circling Renjun’s shoulders.

\---

The others returned at their vacation’s proper end, two days later.

Jaemin greeted them back at the dorms with big hugs, but there was an awkwardness to it. Renjun guessed that Jaemin could tell something had changed between him and Jeno, if it wasn’t already obvious by the fact that they’d gone on vacation together in the first place. But Jaemin didn’t say anything, only insisted that Renjun tell him about all the fun things they did while they were gone.

Renjun, despite Jaemin’s enthusiasm, could not bring himself to pretend he was totally happy about how the trip had panned out.

“Anyway,” Renjun said, trying to steer the conversation away from himself. They were in his room, Renjun lying sprawled in his bed, Jaemin opting to sit on the floor, close by Renjun’s head. “How was _your _vacation?”

“It was alright,” Jaemin said. The words were delicate, disguised.

“Really,” Renjun said. “Tell me. I can tell something happened.”

“Well…” The faintest hint of a smile played on Jaemin’s lips. “I met up with Gayoung.”

“You did?” Renjun jolted upright. “And? What happened? Are you back together?”

“No -- nothing that major.” Jaemin laughed. “But it was a good talk. She seems happy. I’m just glad she’s doing well.”

“Is she single?” Renjun asked with a knowing smirk.

“_Yes_,” Jaemin responded. “She’s single. Don’t give me that look.”

“You’re just happy she isn’t dating another guy.”

“Maybe,” Jaemin admitted. “It just -- it made me feel like there’s still a possibility. Not now. But maybe someday in the future.”

“I’m sure there is,” Renjun assured him. “I’m happy for you.” It looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d had a revelation over their break. But instead of closing the door on a relationship, Jaemin had discovered that his door was still open.

“Listen,” Jaemin said. “You and Jeno --”

There it was. Renjun reached out and pinched Jaemin’s lips shut between his fingers.

“We’re fine,” he said. “Things are better this time. We aren’t fighting like we used to.”

Jaemin removed Renjun’s hand. “But… you’re… _together?_”

“I think so.”

“Holy shit.” Jaemin blinked hard, like trying to wake himself from a dream. “I can’t believe it.”

“I don’t suppose you can keep a secret, can you?” Renjun said coolly.

“Of course I can. I’m not a snitch.” He glanced towards the door. “But… you aren’t seriously going to keep this from Mark and Donghyuck, are you?”

“I don’t know.” Renjun did not want to tell them. He hadn’t even considered it an option. The more people who knew -- even if they were their friends -- the less safe he and Jeno would be. “I need to think about it.”

Jaemin pressed his head against the side of Renjun’s bed frame, so their faces were close together, like two school children sharing gossip. “What made Jeno come around, by the way?”

“You yelling at him, apparently.”

“Well. Someone had to do it.”

Renjun giggled against his pillow. Jaemin couldn’t heal his heartache, but he always made it a little easier to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! popping in at the beginning this time to warn you that this chapter contains very direct references to sexual abuse. if you’ve read this far into this fic, you probably know what you’re getting yourself into, but just in case……. please read with caution!!

Four years.

Four years of wishing every single night that he might find his mother. Four years of waiting, praying, searching, only to find out that she had been doing the same thing. How many times had she called CZN, asking to be put through? How many times had she been turned away?

The more Renjun thought about it, the angrier he got, and the deeper that resentment burrowed into his stomach, making him sick.

Some part of him wished he had never become an idol.

CZN announced a tour, starting that June. Japan, Thailand, Hong Kong. They had a month to prepare and practice the setlist again. But Renjun’s heart was not in it.

The morning of their first day back, Renjun’s alarm rang, but he did not get up. He shut it off, then sank back down into his blankets, staring up at his ceiling. The simple thought of going to the practice rooms numbed him. It was the same way he’d felt when he’d broken Jeno’s glasses. Like he wasn’t even present in his own body. He balled his hands into fists, pressed them into his eyelids, wishing he had control over himself. But that feeling, the faulty wire in his brain, had taken it away from him.

_No_, he thought. _CZN took it away from me._

Jaemin opened his door.

“Are you getting up? The car’s coming in twenty minutes.”

“No.”

“What?” Jaemin walked over to his bedside, crouching down to his level. “Are you sick?”

“I don’t know.”

Jaemin took his hand and squeezed it. The sensation came back for just a second, but then faded again.

“Are you… are you having another episode? Like that one from before?”

Renjun took his hand back and rolled onto his other side, facing away from him.

“Maybe you should see a doctor or something,” Jaemin murmured. “Or, a psychiatrist, I guess. I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff, really, but… maybe they have a medicine you can take. Something to make it so you don’t feel like this.”

Renjun thought of his mother, standing with her back turned at the kitchen sink, covertly downing pills as if it were a crime.

“I don’t want to,” he responded. “I don’t trust that kind of thing.”

He couldn’t see the look of apprehension on Jaemin’s face, but he could imagine it -- chin tucked in, bottom lip chewed. “Are you really not coming to practice?”

“Tell them I’m sick. Tell them I have a stomach ache or something.”

“You know if I say that, they’ll send a doctor. You’ll get in trouble if you aren’t really sick.”

“I don’t care.” Renjun’s jaw set with stubborness. “They can do whatever they want. So what if I’m in trouble? They’re not going to kick me out. I’d like to see them try, when I’m the one responsible for making them all their goddamn money.”

“Alright,” Jaemin conceded. “I guess I can’t make you get up.”

“No, you can’t.”

Jaemin stood back up. As he did, the door opened again, and it was Jeno this time, brows arched with curiosity. Jaemin gave a little smirk, offered a secret wink in Renjun’s direction, and announced, “Gotta go finish getting ready, guess I’ll leave you two alone,” before pushing past Jeno into the hall.

“What the hell’s up with him?” Jeno asked suspiciously.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Jeno came in, shut the door, and approached Renjun’s bedside. “Are you not coming?”

“Nope. Staying in bed today. This is my peaceful protest.”

Jeno’s lips quirked in an almost-laugh. “You don’t really think that’ll work, do you? They won’t let you see your mother just because you stop working.”

“I know. But I still like knowing it’ll piss them off.”

“Whatever makes you happy, I guess.” Jeno bent down as if to kiss him, but hesitated. “Hold on. You aren’t sick, are you?”

“Not with anything you can catch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Again, don’t worry about it.”

Jeno shrugged, and kissed Renjun softly on the lips. For those couple seconds, Renjun felt like himself again; then Jeno left, and the distant, horrible aching came back.

\---

Taeyong showed up several minutes later, a doctor in step behind him. The others had piled into the car and left for the studios. Renjun had stayed in his bed. In the meantime, his mind had wandered. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Sicheng had not recognized him in Wenzhou. Not because it had hurt him, but because he was wondering if, when he finally saw his mother again, she would be unable to recognize him, too. _That _hurt him. He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

“Jaemin said you were sick.” Taeyong pulled Renjun’s desk chair up to his bedside and gestured for the doctor to take it.

“Yup.”

“You don’t seem all that sick.”

“Don’t I?” Renjun avoided Taeyong’s gaze. As much as he hated CZN, he could not hate Taeyong. He was only doing his job.

The doctor sat down. He was a small, semi-balding man in a white jacket with a pen in the breast pocket, like a drawing of a doctor in a kid’s picture book. “Sick how?” he asked.

“I think I have a fever,” Renjun lied.

The doctor immediately whipped his thermometer from his bag, told Renjun to open his mouth, then placed it under his tongue. The thermometer beeped, and he plucked it back out. “Your temperature is completely normal. Want another try?”

Renjun scowled. “It’s my head, then.”

“That’s vague. Do you mean a migraine?”

“No. I mean my brain is fuzzy and it feels like it’s not even working right half the time. It’s like my mind isn’t attached to the rest of me.” _That _was the truth. It was a hard truth to verbalize. As a child, he thought, you learn all the right ways to describe a stomach ache or cold; but no one ever teaches you what to say when your brain feels broken. Maybe because everyone seemed to think that a sickness of the mind was different and somehow less important than a sickness of the body; and that the former was simply your imagination.

And of course, the doctor hissed out a laugh and responded, “Alright, Renjun. Why not just admit you’re making it up?”

“I’m not,” Renjun said. If he was in the doctor’s shoes, maybe he wouldn’t have believed it, either. But he’d seen the way his mother had feared the things that only existed in her mind, hid from voices and shadows he couldn’t see himself. Just because he hadn’t been able to see them didn’t mean they weren’t real. They had been perfectly real to her. And what Renjun felt now was real to him.

The doctor shrugged towards Taeyong. “I can’t help you. This kind of nonsense is outside of my domain.”

Taeyong sighed, cast Renjun one last concerned look, then took out his cellphone and began to dial.

\---

The man who came next wore a suit and tie. He seemed to be one of the higher-up managers from CZN, and possessed all the emotiveness of a brick wall. By now, Renjun decided to at least sit up on his bed, arms crossed stubbornly, giving the man a hard glare as he walked in.

“Renjun,” the man said. “Tell me. What are you trying to achieve?”

“I’m not trying to _achieve_ anything. I said it before. I’m sick.”

“That’s a lie, and we both know it. Does this perchance have anything to do with your mother? Because your little performance won’t get you through to her.”

Renjun had known that, but it still made him angry to hear it said. He lowered his chin, scrunched his brows. “Then I won’t go to practice. I won’t do it. If I could even just call her and see that she’s okay, just once --”

The man placed his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and leaned forward. He remained cool, a dangerous glint in his eye. “In that case, we’ll simply cancel all of Dreamchaser’s activities. You can lay in bed all day, and your members can, too. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the vacation, won’t they?”

Renjun felt the guilt like a kick to the gut. He should have seen it coming. He should have known CZN would find a way to manipulate him into doing as they wanted. He wasn’t so selfish as to take promotions away from the other members. He couldn’t screw them over, no matter how angry he was. They deserved better.

Renjun’s scowl grew deeper.

“I expect we’ll see you at the studio in the morning,” the man said, knowing he’d won. He stood and flattened a wrinkle in his shirt. “Enjoy your one day off. I hope it was worth the trouble.” Then he left.

Taeyong, who still hovered near the doorway, walked over and gave Renjun an apologetic pat on the shoulder. But he didn’t offer to make things better. He didn’t have the power to. And neither did Renjun.

\---

Renjun went to practice the next day.

He still felt like his brain was moving five paces behind the rest of him, but he pushed through. All the while, he could feel Jaemin watching him, his worry obvious. Even Mark had picked up on the fact that whatever had happened the day before, Renjun had not completely recovered, and stopped once to ask him if he was okay. Renjun said yes, of course. It was all he _could _say.

What he really wanted was for Jeno to notice him. But Jeno seemed distracted, pacing around between run throughs, not saying a word. Renjun could tell exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking about being on stage, the fans cheering his name. The very thing that scared him the most.

They took a break. Renjun quickly flagged Jeno down and brought him down the hall, tucked into the corner where they had some privacy.

“Are you good?” Renjun asked.

“I’m fine.”

He could see it now. The wall building back up. He remembered when it was only the two of them in China, how free it had felt. Like they were normal. Like they had no secrets. Like they could be themselves without any expectations, without having to pretend they were something else. He and Jeno had felt so close then. And now that they had to be idols again, that closeness was gone. The pressure was back. He could feel Jeno’s stress in the air, heavy and suffocating. He could feel the recklessness returning, the recklessness that made Jeno do stupid things.

Renjun wondered if the two of them could still maintain their relationship like this, or if it would become bitter again, antagonizing, an outlet for their misery.

“I’m afraid,” he said.

“Of what?” Jeno asked. The unexpectedness of Renjun’s admission seemed to jar him into the present.

“Of whatever happens next.”

Jeno linked their fingers. It should have been reassuring, but Renjun could not even feel it. He only felt a hollowness, carved out inside of him and growing larger.

\---

It swallowed him just a few days later.

His entire body hurt, but at the same time, it didn’t.

It was past midnight. Their fifth day of practice in a row. Dancing from early morning until evening. Songs he’d heard a million times, beating him in the brain. And buried beneath all that, the knowledge that this was what he was forced to waste his time on instead of being allowed to see his mother.

He sat up in bed, flexed his fingers to make sure he could still feel them. He couldn’t. It took a shocking amount of effort to bring them to his face and rub his eyes and his temples, trying to kickstart his brain into function.

The room was dark blue, drowning him. He glanced at the mirror on his wardrobe door. The boy looking back at him was barely there, eyes with dark circles, mousy brown-haired. It certainly was not Renjun. How was his mother going to recognize him, if he couldn’t even recognize himself half the time?

He stumbled from his bed, his sheet wrapping around his leg and tripping him. He struggled to loosen it, kicking hard and sending it sprawling across the floor like a collapsed ghost. He backed into his door knob, fumbled to turn it, and slipped out into the hallway.

He did not know where he was going or what he was doing; but his first instinct was to shut himself in the bathroom, where no one could see him. It was a mistake, he realized too late. The mirror above the sink greeted him. He cowered against the wall, as if his reflection might leap out and attack him. He sucked in a breath, covered his eyes.

Then, he scrounged up a little courage and threw the medicine cabinet open, shoving his reflection out of sight. What was he looking for? His hand rummaged numbly through the shelves, searching for something, anything. It stopped when it touched the cool metal handle of their scissors.

His fingers trembled as they settled into the loops. He turned the scissors beneath the ceiling light, making them shine, and he found his eyes, gleaming back at him from the blade. He needed those scissors -- he didn’t know for what, but… maybe he could cut the dead, dyed ends of his hair, let the roots grow back in. Or maybe, he could drive them into the surface of the bathroom mirror, shatter it into a million pieces. Or _maybe_, he could use them to --

There was a knock at the door.

Renjun backed into the corner, wedged between the sink and the bathtub, trying to hide in the folds of the shower curtain.

Another knock.

“Anyone in there?” It was Jeno. “I’ve gotta piss.”

Renjun could not find his voice.

Jeno knocked a third time. “I’m coming in, then.”

The door opened. Jeno froze, surprised, when he saw Renjun behind the sink. “What -- what are you doing?”

Renjun did not know what he was doing. Only that he was terrified.

He raised the scissors outward like a knife.

Jeno looked at them, mouth hanging open. “Renjun.” His gaze darted back up to Renjun’s face, and he realized something was wrong. Something was missing in Renjun’s eyes. “Put the scissors down and come here,” he tried.

Renjun shook his head. His grip tightened. The scissors remained raised, dangerous.

“Renjun,” Jeno said again. Tentatively, he took a step closer.

“Don’t!” Renjun shouted. His voice had come back, and it was rough like broken glass. “Don’t -- don’t touch me -- don’t come anywhere near me --”

He might as well have slapped Jeno across the face. Jeno, stricken, retreated to the doorway, helpless at what to do.

Suddenly, Jaemin appeared behind him, clearly woken by Renjun’s yelling. His hair was mussed from his pillow and his eyes narrow from sleepiness. They widened when he saw what was happening. Gently, he pushed Jeno out of the way and stepped into the bathroom.

“Injun,” he said.

Renjun’s arms dropped halfway, scissors pointing towards the tile floor.

“Good,” Jaemin said. “Just stay still.” Very slowly, so as not to spook him, he made his way forward. Renjun’s bottom lip began to quiver. Jaemin wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulled Renjun to him. With his other hand, he reached down and pried the scissors out of Renjun’s grip and dropped them into the basin of the sink.

Jeno watched. Mark and Donghyuck had appeared, too, peering through the doorway, confused. Jaemin waved at them to part, and led Renjun between them, out of the bathroom and into the living room, guiding him to sit at the end of the couch.

Renjun could feel the fear cooling. He could feel his sense of self restoring. The blood rushed into his cheeks, embarrassed at everyone having seen him, and he covered his face with his hands and cried. Jaemin sat beside him, hugged him close, running his fingers in his hair.

“What are we going to do with you, Injun?” Jaemin asked. He was trying to lighten the mood, but he meant it, too.

“I don’t know,” Renjun whispered.

“We’ve got to find something,” Jaemin said. “You’ll hurt yourself again, at this rate.”

Renjun didn’t respond. He let his head rest against Jaemin’s chest, buried his face into the front of his shirt.

Somewhere in the background, Renjun heard Donghyuck rifling through the kitchen cabinet for a cup, then switch on the sink. He set the water on the end table beside Renjun and perched himself on the other end of the couch. “Drink it,” he said. “It might make you feel better.”

Renjun did not. He stayed curled into Jaemin’s side. He appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Mark must have dropped into the armchair, because at Renjun’s left, he heard, “Is this why you skipped practice on Monday?”

Jaemin nodded in Renjun’s stead.

Renjun could imagine it -- Mark’s pensive, quiet stare as he turned the information over.

“You should go back to bed,” Jaemin said softly. “And the rest of us, too.”

Renjun sighed, but allowed Jaemin to help him back his feet. He looked around, and found Jeno, silent the whole time, standing against the wall. He watched Renjun shuffle back to his room with an indiscernible expression -- maybe concern, maybe hurt, maybe leftover shock, maybe all three.

Jaemin laid Renjun down onto his bed. After, he did not leave. He held Renjun’s hand until he fell asleep.

\---

It did not matter what had happened the night before. In the morning, Renjun still had to get up, get dressed, shake yesterday off. He looked at himself in the mirror. He did not have that visceral reaction again. But he wondered how soon it would be before it came back.

Jeno cracked open his bedroom door. “Renjun,” he said.

“What?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Jeno entered, made his way to sit on Renjun’s bed. Meanwhile, Renjun walked to his window and pushed it open, allowing the spring breeze to fill his room. It made him feel just the tiniest bit better.

“About last night…” Jeno began.

“I know,” Renjun interrupted. “I know. I was acting crazy.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

Renjun shrugged. “There are Good Days, and there are Bad Days.” He reached down and pulled open his bedside drawer. He plucked out the frame of Jeno’s glasses, which still sat at the bottom, a few shards of the lenses clinging on. “See?”

“My glasses?”

“I broke them. On a Bad Day. I don’t suppose you want them back.” Renjun dropped the frames back inside, and returned the window.

Jeno stared down at the floor. He opened his mouth, then closed it like he was second-guessing himself. Finally, he asked, “Did Jaemin know about this?”

Renjun watched, in the far distance, a crane at the construction site behind their dorm. A light on its arm blinked as it lifted a steel beam. He wondered what it was they had been building all this time, and if he would ever see the end of it. “He knew. He was the only one who knew.”

“I wish you had told me,” Jeno admitted.

“Why? Are you jealous of him again?”

“It’s -- it’s more complicated than that.” Jeno toed the carpet, tracing an invisible line. The line between him and Renjun. “I tried to stop you, Renjun. I tried to reach out. But it was like you didn’t even recognize me. And then Jaemin came in, and suddenly, you relaxed -- you let him touch you --”

“You can’t seriously be blaming me for that, Jeno,” Renjun scolded. “I told you. I wasn’t in the right mind. It wasn’t like I _chose _him over you. I had no control over how I was acting.”

“I know that,” Jeno said. “I’m just telling you how I feel. Even if you didn’t do it on purpose, it made me feel like you don’t trust me. Like, your first instinct is to run to _him_.”

Renjun walked across to his bed and sat down beside Jeno. “Can you blame me?” he asked. “Things between the two of us haven’t always been good, Jeno. You… you hurt me. You were _cruel_ to me, when you kept pushing me away. So maybe I don’t completely trust you.” He watched Jeno’s face, waiting for the anger to erupt. It didn’t, so he continued, “Jaemin is my best friend. I trust him more than anyone. So if you want me to trust you, too, then… you can’t be jealous. You have to give me a reason to trust you.”

“I’m trying,” Jeno said. Renjun was surprised at how earnest he sounded, almost like he was on the verge of tears. “I’m really trying, Renjun. I’m trying to make things work with us. But it’s so hard, when we’re busy like this. The stress -- it changes me. It makes me a different person. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck things up again.”

“I know. I know you’re trying.” Renjun couldn’t begrudge him for that. He knew that Jeno was making an effort. He remembered the daisies, sitting in the hotel room window. "We just have to try even harder. Or else we’ll start moving backwards again, and I don’t want that.”

Jeno, face resolute, said, “Then I’ll work on it. I want you to trust me.”

“Alright.” Renjun extended a small kindness. He took Jeno’s hand. “Then that means we have to be honest with each other. We have to talk about things. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jeno squeezed Renjun’s hand, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Tell me honestly, then. Is today a Good Day, or a Bad Day?”

“Hard to say.” There were the beginnings of a smile rising on Renjun’s lips. “I thought it was going to be a Bad Day. But I’m starting to think it’ll be a Good one, instead.”

Jeno nodded. “I’ll work on it,” he said again, making it a promise. “And I’m sorry.”

Renjun forgave him. The sunlight from the window intensified, shining gold across the floor, just barely touching where his and Jeno’s hands overlapped.

\---

Renjun hated parties, and he was not the only one.

CZN threw them one the following week, in the same banquet hall where they’d had their debut celebration. This time, it was in honor of their last album, which had now sold more units than even Superstar’s latest release. “Lucky” was a certified hit. Dreamchaser were certified hitmakers.

“A true gift to our company,” as the CEO put it, leaning into the mic at the front of the room. “A worthy successor to our groups that came before them.” He raised his glass of champagne. Everyone seated at the tables followed suit, except the Dreamchaser members themselves.

Renjun watched the bubbles rise to the top of his drink, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat. He would not give them the satisfaction of looking bashful or thankful. If he could not skip practices without the other members being affected by it, he would find other little ways to get back at CZN. Right now, it was treating this party like a trifling joke. Earlier, it had been taking his sweet time getting ready, putting on his suit and shoes with languid slowness, assuring the party had a twenty-minute late start just to be annoying.

The other person who hated parties was Lee Jeno.

He sat at the other side of the table, refusing to look at anyone there. Renjun wondered if it was because he was avoiding Daeun, who was sitting a few tables over in a sparkly pink dress and glaring daggers in their direction between sips of champagne. But Jeno could not stay quiet all night long; after dinner was finished, the guests got up and began to mingle, several flocking to the Dreamchaser members to offer their congratulations. Renjun was forced to bow to about a hundred people he couldn’t even remember if he’d met before.

_How fucking exhausting._

There came a small break in the onslaught, and Renjun escaped to the dessert table, finally able to breathe without having to share air with some fake smile-wearing, nameless producer. He took a brownie, and quickly wolfed it down before someone else approached.

And someone did; but when he turned, he realized it was only Jeno. He did not take any food, just hovered close at Renjun’s side, like a child clinging to their parent among a group of strangers.

“We ought to just up and leave,” Renjun murmured. “This is a huge waste of time.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

“I dunno. We could go get fast food in our fancy suits.”

Jeno laughed, nervousness momentarily dispelled. “If only.”

“Excuse me.”

They both looked up to see a man, another stranger to Renjun. He was very tall, thin, forty-something, with a smile full of crooked teeth. He bowed. “Renjun. I’m Kim Younghwan. Nice to meet you.”

Behind Renjun, Jeno took a small step away.

“Oh.” Renjun bowed back. “Nice to meet you. What do you do?”

“I’m CZN’s head casting director.”

Renjun’s eyes widened. He was pretty sure this was the most important man he’d met all night, aside from the CEO, of course. “Oh -- I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“That’s alright. You know, I still remember when we received your audition tape. I had to look it over, of course, before we signed you.” Younghwan leaned a hand on the dessert table, and placed the other on his hip. “I knew there was something special about you. Looks like I was right.”

“Thank you,” Renjun responded. He felt a little strange at being singled out; quickly, before the other boy could slip away, he grabbed Jeno’s arm and hissed, “Jeno. Introduce yourself. He’s the _casting director._”

“We’ve already met,” Younghwan said curtly.

Jeno stayed perfectly still. Renjun looked at him, and saw that he was gritting his teeth.

“Nice to see you again,” Jeno forced out.

Younghwan watched the discomfort on Jeno’s face and, without looking away, took a long, slow sip from his glass.

Renjun’s brow furrowed.

_What the hell is happening right now?_

“Well,” Younghwan said. “I’m going to say hello to the others. It was nice to meet you, Renjun.”

“Likewise.”

Younghwan walked away. And Jeno did, too, before Renjun could stop him, disappearing into the crowd of partygoers, the ends of his jacket swallowed by the moving bodies.

\---

Renjun hurried out of the banquet hall, down the dark hallway towards the back exit, guided by the glowing red sign above the doorway. It opened into a fenced alley on the building’s side, where they kept the dumpsters pushed against the brick walls, and beside that a heap of flattened boxes. One of the banquet’s wait staff stood a few feet away, smoking a cigarette beneath the overhang of a cornice; and in the other direction, Jeno sat on the alley’s curb, arms crossed on his knees, his dark hair shimmering beneath the moonlight.

Renjun tried to approach quietly, but his dress shoes clicked on the concrete. Jeno turned his head. His face was paper white, as if he were sick.

“Are you alright?” Renjun asked, stooping down to sit on the curb beside him, thinking that he would probably get dirt all over the seat of his expensive trousers but not caring at all.

“I’m fine,” Jeno said. “You ought to go back in and enjoy the party.”

Renjun could tell Jeno didn’t really mean it. He didn’t want Renjun to leave him alone. So Renjun stayed. It must have been raining earlier, because there was a shallow puddle on the black asphalt in front of them. It’s surface rippled gently in the nighttime breeze, distorting his and Jeno’s reflections.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “Tell me.”

Jeno pressed a palm against his forehead, eyes shut. “It’s nothing. I just hate these kinds of things. Being put on display.”

“We’re idols,” Renjun reminded him. “We’re _always _on display.” It sounded almost mean-spirited when he said it out loud, though he hadn’t intended it to; just to prove it, he made sure the wait staff he’d seen before had gone back inside, then leaned his head against Jeno’s shoulder. Breathing in, he could smell the scent of roses on Jeno’s jacket. “What was up with that guy in there? The casting director. How do you know him?”

He felt Jeno shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know. It was a while ago.”

“_Jeno_,” Renjun said. “We just talked about this. About trusting each other. I don’t want us to be keeping secrets anymore.”

Jeno’s gaze drifted upward, towards the sky. Renjun wondered if he was even listening. He seemed to be too distracted by stars -- glimmering pinpricks of ice, about a thousand of them, like grains of sugar spilt over a black marble table top. For some reason, to Renjun, they seemed unusually close, like they might be paper cut outs taped to yarn, strung from the ceiling, a child’s arts and crafts project. Clumsy, delicate, breakable little stars.

“I slept with him,” Jeno said.

Renjun lifted his head from Jeno’s shoulder. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jeno didn’t hide. He didn’t muffle his words behind his hand. He looked Renjun in the eye, speaking plainly, laying it all out in the open. “I slept with him. I know you thought all I did was hook up with girls. And I _did _do that. But I did other stuff, too, behind everyone’s back. All kinds of stuff.”

“_Why?_” was the first word Renjun could think to ask. “Why would you…”

“He’s a powerful person. It was the easiest way to get in his good graces.” Jeno raised a hand in front of his face. On its back was an ant, having crawled up from the concrete, walking the line of a blue vein. “You know me, Renjun. I’ll do whatever it takes. If me being an idol depends on powerful men and women wanting me, then I’ll let them have me. It’s the only thing I’m good for, anyway.”

“It’s not the only thing you’re good for,” Renjun objected. “You can’t think that’s the only reason you made it this far. You’re talented, Jeno. You work harder than anybody --”

“No. I’m a cheat.” The ant kept crawling, to the side of Jeno’s hand. He turned it over, so it could make it’s way into his palm. “You know, I used to think it was the _only _way to make it as an idol. But the rest of you -- you all made it just because you wanted it. You never gave up. That first night, when you couldn’t get the dance, but you kept trying -- that was when I realized it. I saw you, and I _knew _you would be an idol, because you were born for it. I could just tell. You weren’t like me. You wouldn’t have to cheat your way to the top.” His gaze was far off as he pictured it -- Renjun, fifteen, the skinny boy crying alone in the empty stairway. “That’s why I helped you. I didn’t want you to be like me. I wanted you to do well, without having to do what I did.”

“Is that why you think you don’t deserve it?” Renjun asked.

“I don’t just _think _it. It’s true.” The ant stilled in his palm. Jeno held it in front of his mouth, and blew. The ant’s weightless body was picked up by the force of it and tossed away, lost in the dark. “I debuted, and other boys didn’t. Maybe if they did what I did -- if they did filthy things -- they would be in my spot, and not me.”

Renjun felt as if he’d just placed the last piece in a puzzle. He understood the guilt, the shame Jeno felt when he stood on a stage. Why he thought for such a long time that he deserved Renjun’s hatred, instead of his affection.

But Renjun could not dwell on it, because something occurred to him.

“Jeno,” he said. “How old were you, when you met that man?”

“I don’t know.” Jeno, taken aback, answered slowly, suspiciously. “When I’d just started as a trainee, I guess.”

“A trainee --” Renjun’s heart went cold. “That’s -- how old, Jeno? Like, thirteen?” When Jeno continued to eye him, confused, Renjun grabbed his sleeve. “That’s illegal. That man -- and if there were others, too -- they shouldn’t have done that… you were a _child_.”

“I knew what I was doing, Renjun.” Jeno yanked his arm away. “I was young, but I wasn’t stupid. I did it because I knew I would get something out of it. I knew it would help my career. I _wanted _to do it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Renjun insisted. “Whether you understood it or not, you were a kid. That’s _rape_, Jeno.”

Jeno stood then, suddenly, as if the word shot through him like a jolt of electricity. “Stop it. You don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t rape. I _know _what rape is, Renjun.” He clasped his hands in front of his chest, like he was shielding himself. He took a step away. “I know it better than anybody.”

The breath fell out of Renjun, like he’d fallen from the sky, hit the asphalt with a sickening thud. Of course, Jeno wouldn’t recognize it for what it was. He wouldn’t be the victim, not when he’d already been forced into it once before, at nine years old. If he could pretend he’d had control, pretend he’d chosen it, pretend it was his fault -- that was less terrifying than having to admit he’d been abused. Only the weak were abused. Not Jeno. He would not admit any weakness.

Renjun had felt that way himself, a million times over. He remembered telling Donghyuck about it once, that time his uncle had come to Korea, when he’d sat on the couch and traced the bruises on his arm. That was why it was so hard to watch Jeno go through the same motions. Because he knew how terribly it would ruin him.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Renjun said, voice thin and wavering. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, or feel pitiable -- I just don’t think it’s healthy, to act like what happened was nothing. You were taken advantage of.”

“Shut up,” Jeno snapped. “You don’t know anything about it. So just shut the fuck up.”

“Jeno --”

“Fuck off.”

He swayed on his feet, pushing his fingers through his hair roughly so that he ruined its perfect styling. His face was no longer white, but red, which Renjun thought at first was from embarrassment at the accidental exposure of a trauma; but then Jeno walked a little ways down the alley, where an empty paint can sat beside the dumpsters, and he kicked it hard enough that it flew and hit the chainlinks of the fence with a loud rattle. Renjun startled, but did not try to stop him. He had to let Jeno be angry. At least the anger meant that Jeno was acknowledging the truth.

Jeno spun back around, hand pressed over his mouth, eyes wet with unshed tears. Then he removed that hand, swung it back, and drove his fist into the side of the dumpster with a raw shout, hard enough to dent the brown metal inwards like it had been struck by a bat. He hit it again. If it hurt (which it surely did -- Jeno’s knuckles were torn open, bleeding, and his fingers twitching like his nerves were on fire), then he didn’t seem to notice.

Renjun, on instinct, covered his ears against the crashing as it continued. He bent over, chest resting against his lap, and simply waited there on the curb, beneath the spotlight of the stars, for it to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want a t-shirt that says "I Survived Writing Chapter 18 of We Were Born For This"
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	19. Chapter 19

Jeno’s hand was broken in two places.

Eventually, he had gone back into the banquet, and Renjun had followed a few steps behind, watching him worriedly. But Jeno had only shoved his bloodied hand into his pant pocket to hide it and continued on with the party as if nothing had happened. There’d been no pain visible in his face. He’d smiled at the other guests like there was no place he’d rather be.

It wasn’t until they’d been in the car on the way home that Jeno had said something. He’d sat on the opposite end of the back row from Renjun (a deliberate choice, after the way he’d shouted at him), and about halfway back to the dorm, he’d announced, “I think my hand is broken.”

Taeyong, in the driver’s seat, had glanced up into the rearview mirror skeptically. “Pardon?”

Jeno had raised his hand from his pocket. The entire back of it was violently red and swollen, clearly a day away from becoming a horrible, dark, all-over bruise. His knuckles were raw and skinned. “I think we should stop at a hospital,” he’d said.

Jaemin, impulsively, had scrambled as far back as he could beneath his seatbelt, practically falling into Renjun’s lap. “What the hell? What happened?”

Taeyong had been so shocked he’d nearly rear-ended the car in front of them. He’d swore, and had quickly swerved into the next lane, switching his turn signal to take them to the hospital.

Three hours later, they sat in the examination room. Jeno’s hand was freshly splinted, after having it x-rayed and poked at by the doctor. His pinky was snapped in its bottom segment, and one of the bones in the palm -- the doctor had called it the metacarpal -- was broken, too.

“I don’t understand,” Taeyong moaned, exasperation obvious, “how you managed to break your hand at a company banquet. What the hell were you doing, Jeno?”

Jeno flexed his wrist, and grimaced. “Had too much to drink, I guess. Did something stupid.”

“I hardly saw you drink at all,” Mark said.

Jeno shrugged, and remained closed-lipped.

Part of Renjun believed it was his fault. If he hadn’t said what he had… if he hadn’t forced Jeno to see what he didn’t want to see, then Jeno wouldn’t have gotten so heated up.

_You didn’t force his fist into that dumpster, _Renjun reminded himself. _He had wanted to hurt. If it wasn’t right then, it still would have happened eventually._

Taeyong started dialing the company number on his cellphone. “Well. I don’t know what happens now. I guess your concerts will have to be delayed. CZN won’t want you on stage in a cast.” When his call was picked up, he moved out into the hallway, leaving the Dreamchaser members alone.

Mark pressed a finger to his temple, rubbing it in circles. “I… I don’t know, you guys. First, what happened with you, Renjun, when you broke down in the bathroom… and now this. I feel like we’re falling apart, one by one.”

“Maybe we’re cursed,” Donghyuck said. “Hope I’m not next.”

“Don’t say that,” Mark warned. “I don’t think you realize how dangerous this is.”

“You already broke your ankle. You had your turn, so you don’t have to worry.”

Mark looked like he was going to smack him, but then Jeno let out a little laugh and said, “You don’t have to be so serious, Mark. We’ll be fine. I was just acting stupid. It’s not a curse.”

Jaemin approached Jeno and touched him gently at the back of his neck. “How’d you manage to hide a broken hand through the party? I’d have started bawling.”

“I have a high tolerance level for pain.”

Renjun winced. He’d said it so lightly, like it was a joke. But Renjun could not help but think about how that tolerance had been built. He wondered how many people Jeno had slept with; how many executives had dangled the promise of debut over his head like the end of a string, turning him into their little dancing kitten. It made Renjun sick.

Taeyong was back, and tapping on the doorframe. “Let’s get going. No practice tomorrow. I’ll let you know the updated schedule in the morning. For now, we’ve gotta get back and get some shut-eye.”

The members began to gather their jackets. Jeno headed out first, herded by Taeyong’s firm hand on his shoulder, then Jaemin and Mark followed. Donghyuck lingered, and Renjun did not know why until he came up to him and murmured, “Is something going on?”

Renjun forced a straight face. “What are you talking about?”

“I was joking about it before, but Mark is right. Something’s wrong here.” Donghyuck glanced down the hall, double checking that the others were out of earshot. “What’s going on, Renjun? Do you know what happened with his hand?”

More coldly than necessary, Renjun said, “I know just as much as you do,” then walked briskly out the door.

\---

Jeno was the first one up as always. Even the morning after the party, when their practice had been cancelled, Renjun found him sitting at the dining room table at seven AM, arm pressed down against the wood, trying to keep his splint steady as he peeled the bandages from his knuckles.

“What are you doing?” Renjun asked.

“Trying to change them. The blood soaked through.”

“Do you want help?”

Jeno leaned back and pushed his arm out further, an invitation. Renjun sat at the other chair and carefully took the bandages the rest of the way off, trying not to bump him and cause pain.

“How’s your hand?” Renjun asked. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“They gave me some painkillers, so it’s not too bad.”

His knuckles were coated in the beginnings of red scabs. The back of his hand, beneath the splint, had indeed become one large bruise, so purple it was almost black. Looking at it made Renjun a little weak in the stomach. He pulled the H-shaped bandages from the box, peeled off their plastic sheets, and began laying them over the wounds.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Jeno said.

“It’s okay.” Renjun patted one bandage down, smoothing its corner. “I knew you didn’t really mean it. And I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t tell you how to feel, or what to think. It’s your life, not mine. I shouldn’t pretend to understand it.”

Jeno shook his head. “No. Sometimes, that’s a good thing. You have more clarity when you’re on the outside looking in.” The last bandage was in place. He bent his knuckles to test it. “So you don’t have anything to be sorry about. You were probably right.”

Renjun stood to go brew the coffee. Before he could, Jeno reached out from where he sat and snagged the hem of his tee, dragging him closer so he could place his hands on his hips, looking up into his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for watching out for me. For taking care of me.”

Renjun felt the warmth spreading, from Jeno’s fingertips through his body, bringing a light flush to his face. Jeno leaned in, let his head rest against Renjun’s abdomen, circled his arms at his waist. Renjun stroked Jeno’s hair. The morning light from the window turned it from black to golden brown, a faded halo. Jeno hugged him for a long time like that, before turning his face up and tugging on Renjun’s shirt to pull him down into a kiss. The warmth had filled Renjun completely now, head to toe, like wildfire. He cradled Jeno’s face in his hands, placed his knee on the edge of the chair between Jeno’s thighs, deepening the kiss; and suddenly they were back in China, just the two of them, and they didn’t have to be idols so long as Jeno held onto him, kissed him like that --

Renjun heard it, somewhere behind him. A sharp gasp. He fell back from the chair and whipped around to see Donghyuck standing at the end of the hallway, mouth hanging open as he realized what he’d seen.

“Donghyuck,” Renjun breathed.

The other boy backed into the wall behind him, seeking something to steady himself against. “What the hell… you...”

“Listen to me.” Renjun took a step closer. Behind him, he could sense that Jeno had stood, hovering at his shoulder. “Donghyuck, it’s not what you think --”

“Bullshit.” The shock faded, and was replaced by anger. “I knew it. I knew there was something going on. How long, Renjun? How long were you hiding this?”

Renjun bit his lip. He didn’t want to say it. His worst nightmare was real. It struck him speechless.

“A few months,” Jeno offered in his place.

Donghyuck slapped a hand to his forehead in stunned disbelief. “You’re kidding. You have to be kidding me. Do you realize how fucking dangerous this is? Imagine if someone found out -- imagine if --”

“No one found out,” Jeno assured him weakly.

“But I just did. And if I did, then someone else just as easily could.” His chest heaved with a deep, audible breath. It shook slightly as it was released through his teeth. “Don’t you understand? If it was found out, it wouldn’t just hurt the two of you -- it would tank Dreamchaser’s reputation. It would fuck all of us over, and you don’t even care.”

Renjun felt the guilt approaching, so he tried to escape it. The easiest route was retaliation. “It’s not about you, Donghyuck,” he snapped. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I can’t be happy. All the rest of you, you could date whoever you want. But I _can’t_. I can’t, because doing what makes me happy is the same thing as shooting my entire career in the fucking foot, and you don’t even have the littlest bit of sympathy. You’re so worried about our reputation, that you don’t give a shit about my happiness.”

Donghyuck, blown back by Renjun’s retort, went quiet. Then he asked, in a whisper, “Did Jaemin know?”

Renjun did not understand. “Yes,” he answered, with the hint of a question mark at the end.

“You told him, but you didn’t tell me or Mark?” Donghyuck had the look of a boy who’d just pricked his thumb or stepped on a thorn; and Renjun realized that he was hurt, heartbroken. “Did you not trust us enough to tell us? _God_, Renjun, I thought we were friends. Something this important, I thought you would have the decency to let us know --”

“Because I knew you would react like this,” Renjun said. “Why would I tell you, when all you would do is make me feel awful for it?”

Donghyuck tilted his head back, like he was holding back tears. Then, still in his pajamas, he stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him.

“I can’t believe this,” Renjun said. “We’re so stupid, Jeno. We should have been more careful. What were we thinking, kissing in the middle of --”

“No.” Jeno placed a hand on Renjun’s shoulder. “We should have told them. It wasn’t right to keep it a secret.”

Renjun felt a strange twinge in his stomach, and he knew, suddenly, that this was only the beginning of something bigger.

\---

Between the week of vacation (which CZN now seemed to regret having given them in the first place) and Jeno’s injury, which resulted in an additional week of canceled activities, the company was worried that Dreamchaser, outside of the limelight for too long, might be forgotten by their fans. On top of that, the delay and rescheduling of their concert dates caused a stir on social media, leading to rampant speculation. In response, CZN plunged Dreamchaser back into things as soon as possible, including an appearance on a live TV show where they would interview, do a few songs to preview the concert’s setlist, and try to rechannel the negative attention into something positive.

Jeno still wore his splint, which naturally came up during the interview. “How did that happen?” the host asked, a short woman with prominent dimples and Barbie-pink lipstick. “I’m sure the fans are curious.” At their invocation, the fans in the studio audience shared a concerned whine.

Jeno smiled and waved his splinted hand dismissively. “It wasn’t anything big. I slipped on the stairs at the dorm building and fell on my hand. It’s just a little fracture in one of the bones, so you don’t need to worry about me. The doctor said it’ll heal in no time, and I should be ready for our concerts next month. And all your messages of support have helped me to feel better, too.” A perfectly memorized response, penned by CZN themselves. Not just lies about how it happened, but a downplaying of the severity of his injury. Jeno recited it so easily, the audience immediately bought it -- their whines were replaced by coos and the encouraging waving of their lightsticks.

Eventually the interview, as it always did, came to Renjun. But Renjun was distracted, watching Jeno, watching the white-knuckle fist beneath his split as it rested on his knee, the type of subtle tension the public would not recognize but Renjun could. He saw a boy with a broken hand and a broken heart thrust under stage lights like a spectacle, like being an idol was something you could turn on and off despite whatever you might be feeling underneath.

“Renjun,” the host repeated.

He refocused. The lights unblurred, the cheers unmuffled. He felt the hardness of the chair beneath him, the curve of the microphone in his hands.

“Tell me,” the host continued, beside a poster that displayed his member profile, written in streaky black marker, “what this means. ‘Pure boy,’ it says. Can you explain how you got that nickname?”

_I think it might be nice to be the pure boy, _Jeno had said once, bitterly. _There’s nothing pure about me._

Renjun raised his mic.

“I don’t think I’m really pure,” he said. “The company gave each of us an image to portray, and I was told to be the pure, innocent boy.”

He sensed all the members freezing around him, wide-eyed, some of the glancing back to try and catch sight of the managers who stood to the sides of the stage. Jeno looked at Renjun. His lips were parted, like a breath was caught there, like he understood that Renjun was really only talking to him.

“It doesn’t mean anything, anyway,” Renjun added. “Pure is a silly word. It isn’t worth anything. So I wish people would stop calling me that.”

The host, too, seemed to be waiting for one of the managers to jump in. Thankfully, no one did, so she gave a little cough and moved onto the next member.

When it was over, and they were shuffled backstage, Donghyuck snatched Renjun’s sleeve before anyone else could. “Renjun,” he hissed. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re being reckless. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

“Right,” Renjun said sharply. “What you really mean to say is, that I’m going to get _all _of us in trouble. You’re just worried about yourself, like always.”

Donghyuck’s hand fell away. “You don’t even care about Dreamchaser anymore,” he whispered. “Mark was right. We’re falling apart.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Renjun was riding the high of his recklessness. He knew he shouldn’t be saying it, but he did anyway. “Each of us falling off one by one. Then you can have your little solo career.”

Donghyuck’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re an idiot,” he sobbed, and rushed away.

Renjun was brought back to a time when he and Donghyuck fought all the time. He recalled the moment when Donghyuck had hurried out of the practice room during their trainee days because Renjun had gotten the main vocal part, and not him. Everything was moving in a circle. Renjun wanted to break the circle, but he didn’t know how.

Donghyuck was right. Renjun did not really care about Dreamchaser anymore. He cared more about Jeno. He realized, then, that they were mutually exclusive things. Because Jeno could not ever be happy so long as he was an idol, and Renjun thought he and Jeno’s unhappiness must be tied together, dragging each other down like weights to the bottom of the ocean.

He set his mic on the table, and went to wash the makeup from his face.

\---

Renjun had known the scolding was coming, though it did not sting as much as he had expected.

After filming was over, late in the evening, the others were brought back to the dorm, while Renjun was driven to the company building for the express purpose of being torn apart by their managers. He sat at the meeting room table, hands clasped in his lap, patient while he was assaulted by reprimands.

“Have you learned nothing from your interview coaches?”

“Why would you pin the blame on the company during a live show? It can’t even be edited out.”

“We ought to pull the plug on you, and the rest of Dreamchaser, too.”

Renjun knew now that it was an empty threat. They made the company too much money. Pulling the plug on Dreamchaser was the same thing as pulling the plug on CZN. Despite the heavy atmosphere in the room, he smirked to himself.

Once his slap on the wrist was finished, he walked out into the hall, unfolding his hoodie from over his arm and pulling it on. His head popped out from the collar, and the first thing he saw was Jeno, standing at the corner, leaning against the wall and checking the time on his phone.

Renjun, surprised, called after him, “What are you doing?”

Jeno smiled. “I was waiting for you.”

Renjun hurried down to meet him, sneakers scuffing on the tile floor. “What do you mean? You’re supposed to be at home.”

“I broke out,” Jeno said. “I knew the company wouldn’t drive me here so late, especially after your little fiasco, so I walked.”

“You _walked_? All the way from the dorm to CZN?”

“Yeah. It was nice. Warm. Peaceful, kinda.”

Renjun was smiling, now, too. They turned the corner, towards the exit. The offices were mostly empty at that time of night, like the building was abandoned aside from the two of them. Renjun wondered what Taeyong would say when they went back out to van and he saw Jeno there. Maybe another scolding. Renjun found he did not really care.

“You know,” Jeno said. “When you were saying that stuff so bluntly onstage, it reminded me of when we were trainees. When you learned that dance, and did it perfectly in front of the instructor. He wouldn’t compliment you, so you made him do it. You stood up to him. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Renjun responded drily. “Everyone thought I was an asshole after that. A primadonna.”

“I didn’t. That was the moment I started to like you.”

Renjun stopped walking. It was funny, how Jeno saying something like that, so long after their first kiss, after their first night together, was enough to make his heart flutter. It was all backwards, he thought, but then again, they’d always been a little backwards, so somehow it made perfect sense.

“Jeno,” he said. “I love you.”

Jeno stopped walking, too. It shouldn’t have been startling to him -- how many times had he heard the fans yelling that exact thing while he danced? How many times had he read that in comments online, surrounded by little hearts? But the fans didn’t really know him. Jeno was shocked that someone could know him, and still love him.

In response, he put his arms around Renjun’s middle and held him, resting his cheek against Renjun’s hair. He did not speak, as if he might start crying if he tried to.

Renjun pressed his face into Jeno's shoulder, and shut his eyes.

\---

Taeyong was, in fact, not happy to see the two of them.

He drove them back to the dorm in silence. After they returned and took the elevator to their floor, Taeyong singled Renjun out and said, “I’d like to talk to you.”

“I’ve already been yelled at enough,” Renjun responded tiredly. “Can I just go to bed now?”

Taeyong opened his apartment door, and pointed a firm finger inside. Renjun sighed, but did as he was told.

Without asking, Taeyong walked into his kitchen and began preparing mugs of tea. Renjun settled on the couch, the very clean couch that was nothing like the one in their dorm. Everything in Taeyong’s apartment was spotless. He wondered how he was able to keep it up with such a packed schedule.

Taeyong set Renjun’s mug on the coffee table in front of him, then dropped down beside him with a groan like that of a man twice his age. “Did they tear you apart?” he asked before sipping his tea. Renjun realized this was a friendly conversation, not an accusatory one, and let his guard down.

“Yeah. But it’s okay. I’m not upset about it or anything. I knew it would happen.”

“Why did you do it,” Taeyong asked, “if you knew you’d be in trouble?”

Renjun shrugged. He picked up his mug, breathed in the warm steam from its surface. “It just felt right. Now more than ever, I get the sense that I should be doing the exact opposite of whatever the company wants from me.”

Taeyong didn’t seem to totally understand, but he nodded anyway._ It must be awful, _Renjun thought, _to have to watch someone who’s living your dead dream treat it so carelessly, like they’re taking it for granted._

“I’m sorry,” Renjun said. “To make so much trouble for you… I’m really inconsiderate, sometimes.”

Taeyong smiled at this. “That’s true. But I think you’re a good kid anyway.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“It’s true. Being an idol is hard. It’s enough to drive anyone crazy. But you always bounce back from it. I think that’s really impressive.”

“I’m afraid,” Renjun admitted, “that one of these days, I won’t bounce back.”

“You will. It just takes time.” Taeyong slipped his fingers through the handle of his cup, so that with his other hand, he could itch at the knee of his straightened leg, where his brace must have been beneath his pant leg.

Renjun hesitated, but asked anyway, “What is it like, to give up your dream?”

Taeyong gave him a knowing look, like he’d predicted Renjun was going to ask that. “It’s horrible, at least at first. It makes your life feel completely pointless. You think about all the years you wasted chasing that dream, and how they don’t mean anything now that you can’t have it. But it can be a good thing, too. You learn a lot. And sometimes, you realize that it was a necessary detour to end up where you’re supposed to be.” Taeyong drained another sip from his cup, then added, suspicious, “Why are you asking me that? Are you thinking about quitting or something?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He thought Taeyong might be angry with him. But Taeyong only said, “You know, Renjun. I’m not sure that being an idol is really your dream in the first place.”

It felt like the world tilted, like Renjun was looking at everything from a new angle. “It isn’t?”

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” Taeyong clarified. “But it seems to me like your dream is something else entirely. You just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

There was the spark of a revelation. It caught, and the flame began to spread.

\---

Renjun and Donghyuck were still not on good terms. And at some point, Donghyuck must have told Mark about what he’d seen, because Mark was cold to him, too, refusing to make eye contact with him all throughout their practice session. It was strange, to have an open secret hanging in the air, everyone knowing it but no one acknowledging it. It was suffocating.

And it showed in their dancing. No one could focus enough to get it right, no matter how many times they’d performed those songs in the past. Jeno’s expression was far-off, so distracted that he stumbled right into Jaemin. Donghyuck made frequent wrong steps. Renjun could not get one part right no matter how many times they went through it, and he knew he would never get it, because he did not care enough to. Mark, frustrated, called them all to stop, removing his cap and rubbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

The others, silent, stared at the floor. What had happened to the boys with the perfect chemistry, the boys so strong that the other trainees had tried to sabotage them? _They’re gone,_ Renjun thought. Those boys had died away the moment Jeno had kissed him on the balcony, the moment a secret was born.

“Should we just address the elephant in the room?” Donghyuck said.

Renjun looked at him. Donghyuck was angry, standing with his feet spread apart and his hands on his hips. “You’re really going to do this right now?” Renjun asked quietly.

“When else, Renjun?” Beneath the anger was a touch of desperation, obvious in the strain of Donghyuck’s voice. “I can’t believe… I can’t believe you would do that. Both of you. And not even tell me or Mark.” He turned to Jaemin. “And you, too. You knew the whole time.”

“Not the whole time,” Jaemin objected, but half-heartedly, like he knew it was pointless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was my secret to tell.”

“I’m with Donghyuck,” Mark said. “I don’t like that no one told us. The two of you… _doing what you did _is irresponsible in the first place. But then to hide it from us --”

“What were we supposed to do?” Renjun found he was surprisingly calm -- the confrontation was inevitable, and he would simply have to let it pass. He spoke softly, slowly. “We were trapped either way. We tell you, and we’re in trouble. We don’t tell you, and we’re liars. I’m sorry. I really, really am. But we can’t do anything about it now. It’s already happened.”

He was too calm, in fact, to be a satisfying target. Donghyuck turned to Jeno instead. “Don’t you have anything to say? Don’t you think you owe us anything?”

Jeno remained still, eyes darting around to the others like they’d caught him in a corner. “I…”

“Just leave it,” Renjun said. “Just leave it, Donghyuck.”

“Why? So you two can just go on sleeping together?” Donghyuck snapped.

It went silent again. Finally, the proper truth, laid out in the open. No one knew what to do with it.

Jaemin buried his face in his hands. “I fucking hate this,” he said. The tremor in his voice meant he was on the verge of tears. Donghyuck breathed out, trying to calm himself, tearing his eyes away from Renjun and facing the wall instead. Jeno bolted out of the room.

Mark made like he was going to go after him, but Renjun raised a hand. “Don’t bother. I’m going to talk to him. Not you.”

“Renjun --”

He didn’t stay to hear what Mark had to say. He followed Jeno out into the hallway.

He found him sitting on a bench by the vending machines. His expression was vacant, staring into the floor, into nothing, shoulders slumped. It was like the guilt had emptied him of any happiness. It was like he was simply waiting to disappear.

Renjun did not sit down next to him. Instead, he kneeled on one knee in front of him, that way he was low enough that Jeno could not avoid looking at him. “What are you thinking?” he asked. His voice echoed through the corridor.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jeno answered. “We fucked it up.”

“I know.” Renjun took Jeno’s hand, his good hand, where it lay in his lap. “We should have seen it coming. I… I guess we can’t be idols like this. It won’t work. We’d just screw things up for the others. Imagine if the company found out, or we broke up someday and it didn’t end well… those are things that we couldn’t come back from.” He swallowed, and it hurt. “So maybe we should just end it now. End it before it gets any worse.”

“I don’t want to,” Jeno whispered.

“I know,” Renjun said again. “But we’re idols. We knew it before we even debuted, that this kind of thing wasn’t allowed. I don’t want to get in the way of your dream, Jeno. Not after you worked so hard. Not after you went through so much to be here. It isn’t fair to you.”

There was the smallest trace of life, reigniting in Jeno’s eyes.

“I don’t know if I want to be an idol anymore,” he admitted.

Hope bloomed in Renjun’s chest.

“Let’s leave, Jeno.” He squeezed his hand, to reassure him that he meant it, with every bit inside of him. “Me and you. We’ll leave together.”

Jeno began to cry. Renjun realized he had never seen Jeno cry properly before, not once in all the years he’d known him. But now he did, and like anyone who was out of practice at something, Jeno cried clumsily, fat tears streaking down his cheeks and clinging to his chin. Like a child, he balled the sleeve of his sweatshirt in his palm and tried to wipe them away, but they kept coming, relentless, necessary. He opened his mouth to speak and produced a tiny, voiced sob; so he took a stuttering breath, then tried again. “I can’t. I can’t leave, Renjun. I don’t know what I would do or where I would go -- I don’t even have a high school diploma, I couldn’t get a job anywhere, no one would hire me --” One teardrop fell, and landed on the back of Renjun’s hand. “Being an idol is the only thing I know how to do, the only thing I’m any good at -- I could never do anything else --”

It was an elaborate trap, Renjun thought. Being an idol meant giving up every other opportunity, shutting and locking every other door. That’s why the company wanted boys with drive, boys like Jeno who had nowhere else to go so they worked themselves broken to debut. Young boys who didn’t know any better, who would sacrifice school and jobs and every chance at a different future, convinced they did not deserve them. That way, they could be controlled. They could be kept in one place.

Renjun would not allow it. He would not submit to a system like that. And he wouldn’t let Jeno submit to it, either.

“You _can_,” he insisted. “You can leave. All you have to do --” He pointed down the hall, towards the glass doors. “-- is get up and walk out. And if you don’t do it now, you never will.”

Jeno blinked, teardrop wobbling at his lashes.

“I’ll come with you,” Renjun said. “I’ll take care of you.”

He listened to the buzz of the vending machines, waiting. It didn’t matter how long he had to wait. He would wait there for as long as it took, an eternity, even, if that was what Jeno needed. He would be patient, and the waiting would not be painful, because he would know that it meant something. He would wait, and --

Jeno nodded. It was so small, Renjun almost didn’t notice it. So subtle, it was almost imperceptible, almost invisible, almost nothing at all. But it _wasn’t _nothing. It was there. It was there, and it was enough.

Renjun smiled, maybe the truest smile in all his life, and pressed a kiss against Jeno’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls forgive me
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	20. Chapter 20

Renjun had one more secret to keep.

He did not tell the others that he and Jeno were leaving. Not because he was angry with them, but because if he told them, he was afraid he would not have the courage to really go through with it. So he locked himself in his room, ensuring his privacy, and searched for his contract.

He'd been given a copy of it the day after he’d signed it. He’d never even read it once, simply jotted his name at the bottom, then went home and promptly shoved it into his desk drawer, thinking he’d probably never look at it again. He found it there now, it’s pages crumpled but still legible. The contract he’d signed when he became a trainee -- the one he’d signed in Wenzhou, pushed across the table to him by Liling -- had had a termination clause, so he figured this one must, too. He flipped through it, found the word “termination,” and attempted to read the paragraph below.

Despite the fact that he rarely struggled with his Korean in conversation, he soon realized that the contract was full of legal jargon he could not even begin to decipher -- and even if he _could _read it, he didn’t think he would be able to figure out what it really meant. Those types of contracts were always made to be as difficult as possible for a regular person to read, that way, the company could angle it to their advantage without the idol even knowing.

He picked up his phone, and began to browse for a lawyer.

The first person he called (to whom he offered a sufficiently vague description of the situation, so as to avoid the news getting out) told him that he didn’t handle that type of case, and referred him to a list of other firms in Seoul that might assist him. He tried another number. This one put him through to a woman who claimed to have worked on cases for actors and idols from small companies, solving contract disputes.

“Is there any chance that you would be available to meet in person?” she asked him. “If you really want to pursue this, I’ll need to look over your contract with you, and then discuss fees. It’s a big step, but I can guarantee your privacy.”

Renjun chewed the inside of his lip, and glanced up to where his practice schedule was taped to the wall. Full up, essentially everyday until their next concert. “I, uh… I don’t have much free time during the day. I don’t suppose your firm is open in the late evening.”

“It isn’t. I’m sorry.”

He tapped his fingers contemplatively against his contract, where it sat on his desk. “Maybe… could you do around one in the afternoon? As soon as possible?”

She went quiet. Renjun could hear her clicking her mouse. “I think I could meet on Thursday at that time. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

Renjun hung up, and let out a long breath.

He told Jeno about it that night, standing out on the balcony. Summer had finally arrived, warm enough that he didn’t need long sleeves. A moth circled their balcony light, pale yellow wings fluttering.

“A lawyer, huh?” Jeno leaned against the railing, tilting his head back, drawing out the pretty curve of his neck. “God. I didn’t even consider that kind of thing. You think we need one?”

“I can’t figure out our contracts on my own. And you know that it won’t be easy to get out of them. The company has a huge legal team. They’ll do anything to keep us in place.”

“Hmm.” He sighed. “I wonder if we can really do this, Renjun.”

“We have to,” Renjun insisted. “We can’t stay here. There’s got to be a way out. We aren’t the first idols to terminate our contracts.”

“You’re right.” Jeno pressed his shoulder to Renjun’s, backs of their hands brushing. He reached around and linked their fingers. “What’s your plan, anyway? If we leave.”

“I’m not sure yet. I’d… I’d like to find my mother. But I know that’s going to be hard. It could take ages. So it’s up in the air, for now.”

“What about other stuff? Like jobs and apartments and --”

“I’ll figure it out when I get there. I can’t even think about it until we get this other stuff sorted out first.” He tried a smile, forcing the optimism to stay alive. “I know you’re worried about finding something aside from being an idol -- but once we’re out of here, we’ll have all the time in the world. You can try a bunch of different things. I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

Jeno’s eyes traced the fluttering of the moth, the way the light shone through its wings and made them transparent. “Renjun, I think -- I think when we leave, you ought to see somebody. Like a doctor. About what’s wrong with you.”

Renjun sighed. Jaemin had said that once, too. But he didn’t like doctors, not after that one sent by the company had dismissed his sickness like it was nothing. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“By which you mean you won’t do it,” Jeno assessed. “Just once, I think you should try it. It might help. You don’t want to go the rest of your life like that. What if you had a Really Bad Day, and you were home alone or something? It’s dangerous.” Clearly, Jeno was remembering the scissors, wondering what Renjun might have done with them if he had not walked in. Renjun wondered the same thing himself sometimes.

“Alright,” Renjun conceded. “I’ll see a doctor. But if I do that, then I want you to see someone, too.”

Jeno squinted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, like a therapist or something. I’m glad you’ve opened up to me about things, but sometimes I’m not sure what the right thing to say is.” Renjun watched as the moth at the light suddenly turned away from it, bouncing in the middle of the air above the balcony for a moment, then flew towards them. Renjun drew his head back as it circled him. “I think it might be worth it to talk to someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who can help you. Even just one time, and then if you hate it, you don’t have to go back.”

Jeno looked as though the thought of therapy had never crossed his mind. Like he’d never known it was an option in the first place. There was a little nervousness in his face, a little fear, but he nodded anyway. “Alright. I guess that’s a fair trade.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

The moth landed on Renjun’s shoulder. He giggled, then prodded its wing gently and watched it take off into the night.

\---

On Thursday, they stopped practice to eat lunch at 12:30, their usual time. The others made their way towards the breakroom at the end of the hall, to microwave their cup ramen and grab snacks from the fridge. Renjun and Jeno stayed behind. No one questioned it -- the two of them typically ate alone anyway, away from the tension of the group. Some afternoons, Jaemin joined them; others, he ate with Mark and Donghyuck, trying not to play favorites. Renjun was relieved, on that day, to find he did the latter.

“Are you ready?” Renjun whispered. He grabbed his backpack from the corner of the practice room. Inside was his contract, carefully concealed beneath his balled-up hoodie. He stooped to pull the hoodie out now, and began to slip it on over his head.

“Yup.” Jeno put on his glasses. “You know where it is we’re going?”

“I have a map on my phone --”

“Where are you two off to?”

Renjun was so surprised he cursed. Taeyong stood in the doorway behind them, watching with a raised brow. He’d come to practice with them that morning, but Renjun could have sworn he’d seen him head to the kitchen with the others.

“Me and Jeno wanted to eat out for lunch,” Renjun responded. He’d had an excuse prepared just in case. “Do you want us to bring something back for you?”

“You can’t just leave by yourselves. Let me call for a car, and I’ll drive you.”

Renjun bit his lip. He should have known it wouldn’t be easy. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do. I’m your manager. You two can’t just leave by yourselves.” Taeyong’s phone was already in his hand, finger on the button. “What restaurant do you want to go to?”

They were trapped. Renjun knew he would have to take a risk, or else they would never get out at all.

“You can’t come,” he said firmly, hoping Taeyong would know what he meant. “We have to go by ourselves.”

Their manager froze. “You aren’t really going out to eat, are you?”

Renjun nodded. “So you have to let us go. Please.”

“Jeno, too?” Taeyong glanced at the other boy. Renjun had gotten the feeling before that Taeyong knew he did not want to be an idol anymore. But clearly, he hadn’t realized the same was true of Jeno.

“Yes,” Jeno said.

Taeyong breathed, processing the news, deciding whether or not to be the manager or the friend. Silence filled the practice room. Renjun began to sweat.

“Let me drive you,” Taeyong said.

Renjun held back a smile. He should have known Taeyong would come through for them. “No. I don’t want you to get in trouble when they find out. I don’t want them to think you were complicit in this. You might lose your job.”

“But --”

“It’s fine. Jeno and I have a plan. If anyone asks, tell them you went to the bathroom, and when you came back out, the two of us had disappeared.”

Taeyong hesitated. “How exactly are you going to get there?”

“The subway.”

“Call a cab instead. That way there won’t be as many people who might recognize you.”

“Okay.”

Taeyong backed out of the door. His gaze lingered on them, but he eventually tore it away, and walked down the hall towards the bathroom, just as Renjun had suggested.

Renjun looked at Jeno, confirming his courage. Then they slipped away, out of the practice room, towards the back exit.

They were at the side of the parking lot. CZN was surrounded by a tall chain link fence, and the only way out was blocked by a security guard, who filtered employees in and out, checking to make sure they had the proper approval.

“We can’t go out that way,” Jeno said. “The guard won’t let us out without a manager.”

“Then what do we do?”

Jeno peered around the lot, making sure there was no one in sight. Then he jogged to the other side, right to the corner of the fence, and gestured for Renjun to follow.

“We’ll have to climb it,” Jeno said.

“This is ridiculous. It’s like a prison breakout in a movie.”

“We don’t have many options.”

He was right. Renjun had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “What if we’re caught? There are cameras all around the lot, aren’t there?”

“I’m counting on the hope that by the time they notice, we’ll already be too far away to track.”

Renjun had to trust him. After all, Jeno was the breakout professional. He’d become a master at leaving the dorms unnoticed in the middle of the night to meet girls. Perhaps, Renjun thought, there had been a benefit to it after all.

Jeno threaded his fingers together and lowered his hands for Renjun to step onto. Then, with a grunt, he hefted him halfway up the fence. Renjun grabbed onto the chain links. They gaps were too small to fit his feet into; he had to balance on his toes, which barely found purchase, and lift himself higher. When he reached the top bar, he threw one leg over it, then looked down and realized how far he was from the ground.

“Uh,” he said dumbly.

“Try to make it as far down as you can on the fence,” Jeno called up. “If you jump, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Renjun muttered. He shifted his other leg over, perch precarious, and tried to make his way down. Once he determined he would not kill himself if he jumped, he dropped the rest of the distance, sneakers hitting concrete.

Jeno climbed over next, much faster and with much more ease than Renjun had. Renjun suspected he had jumped many fences in his lifetime. Once they had both made it over, they slunk out of sight, around the edge of a bush and out towards the streets.

\---

They arrived slightly late for their appointment. Partly due to the fence scaling, partly due to the fact that they’d made sure they were a few streets away from the company building before calling for a cab, out of fear that if they stuck too close they might get caught. The cab had picked them up from the end of an alleyway, where the two of them had double checked that they were unrecognizable beneath their masks and glasses and caps, and taken them to a narrow but impressive looking building on Seoul’s west side. When they entered, the receptionist gave them a suspicious once-over, but paged in their lawyer anyway.

Kang Jinhee was a younger woman than Renjun had expected. She was probably in her early thirties, but had the deep, slightly smokey voice of someone older, thought it suited her; she was sharp-eyed, hair slicked back in a tight, professional bun, and wore a dark gray pantsuit that emphasized her long, lanky figure. Renjun was reminded of a cheetah, sleek and quick, claws always out.

Despite this, she was not harsh or unfriendly. She invited both of them to sit in chairs on the opposite side of her desk, and took out a little notepad. Renjun glanced around her office. It was perfectly neat, no stray papers or misplaced files. All the items at the front of her desk -- her pencil cup, her nameplate, her stapler -- were in an impeccable straight line, as if measured into place by a ruler.

Renjun handed his contract over them. Jinhee glanced at the cover page.

“CZN Entertainment,” she read. “I’ll warn you, I’ve never worked for clients under such a big label. They’ll certainly have more resources than I do.”

“Do you mean you don’t think you can help us?” Renjun asked.

“I never said that.” She pursed her lips. “I have a perfect track record with these kinds of cases. Every entertainer I’ve represented has won. This is just… a bit of a bigger beast.”

Jeno handed her his contract, too, just to be sure. He and Renjun had looked at them before, and they seemed mostly identical. Jinhee took a moment to read them over, finger tracing the lines in intense focus.

“Your termination clause,” she began, “states that your contract can be ended if the company has violated their part of the agreement in some way, or if the artist’s health is reliant on their withdrawal. Can you think of anything that might meet these requirements?”

Renjun and Jeno looked at each other. “Well,” Renjun said. “I’m sure they must have violated the contract in some way.”

“What about your mother?” Jeno asked. “It can’t be legal for them to separate the two of you.”

Jinhee began to flip back through the contract. “Family visitation,” she read. “It says that the company must allow regular contact between artists and their legal guardians. If they were preventing you from contacting your mother, then there may be a case there.”

Renjun deflated. “My mother isn’t technically my legal guardian.”

Jinhee _tsk_ed and tapped the end of her pen to his chin. “There’s no specific rights granted to blood relatives, only legal guardians. So that won’t work for us.”

“What about when you and Mark hurt yourselves at that concert?” Renjun asked Jeno. “It was too dangerous to make you perform in the rain. There has to be something there --”

Jinhee interrupted, “Those types of things are hard to prove. The company can blame it on artist negligence rather than their own, or they could pin it on the negligence of the concert staff for not making the venue safe enough. They’ll find ways to slip out of it.”

Renjun slumped in his seat. He _knew _CZN was negligent. He knew it, but he couldn’t figure out how to prove it.

As if she read his mind, Jinhee said, “For now, let’s make a list of all your complaints against the company. We’ll start not with a lawsuit, but a meeting with their legal counsel, and try to reach an agreement that way. It’ll be more subtle than suing, and we might be able to convince them without having to prove contract violations.”

“Do you think that will work?” Jeno asked. “Just talking to them -- I don’t think we can convince them to cancel our contracts.”

“It’s worth a shot. And it’ll be cheaper to pursue.” She began to type something out on her computer. “The company will want to avoid a lawsuit at all costs. If we play it right, we might be able to achieve something. If not a termination, at the very least we could try for some changes to your contracts that will give you a little more power. And I know that isn’t ideal, but it’s better than nothing.”

Jinhee was smart, Renjun told himself. She knew how these things worked, far better than he did. He had to have faith in her.

“Alright,” he agreed. He looked at Jeno, who was staring into the distance, eyes narrowed, thinking. When Renjun tapped his knee, Jeno snapped back to attention and agreed, too.

“Great.” Jinhee pushed her mouse away, and flipped to the next page of her legal pad. “Then we should start from the beginning. Tell me as much as you can, and I’ll see what I can do.”

\---

Three days later, they stood outside of a meeting room at the company building.

“I suggest you let me do the talking,” Jinhee said, straightening the lapels of her blazer. “We have to be careful what we say. If we say too much, we risk exposing the main arguments of our court case, which will give them an opportunity to develop a defense, and we don’t want that.”

“I thought we were avoiding court,” Renjun responded.

“We are. But you never know what’ll happen.” She fixed them both with a hard stare. “So, unless I give you the go ahead, just be quiet and listen.”

Renjun wanted to object, but he knew she was right. He didn’t know anything about the legal stuff -- he didn’t want to slip up and hurt their case.

A man poked his head out of the door. “We’re ready for you,” he said.

Jinhee stood even straighter than usual and strode into the meeting room. Renjun tried to replicate her confidence, staying straight-faced and cool.

Inside, the shiny oval table had been set up with three chairs on either side, and a pitcher of water and cups in the center. Jinhee, Renjun, and Jeno filled in the chairs that were not taken, opposite three men in suits, who were organizing their stacks of papers and whispering in each other’s ears. They quieted when the others took their seats.

Jinhee did not wait to be spoken to. She pulled a file from her briefcase. “Let’s get straight to the point. My clients are interested in dissolving their contracts with the company.”

The man who sat in the middle, wearing rectangular glasses and a striped tie, was taken aback. “Hold on. You said this meeting was to discuss contract negotiations --”

“I’m negotiating its dissolution.”

The three men exchanged a worried glance.

“You can’t be serious,” Striped-Tie said. He turned to Renjun and Jeno. “What on earth would make you want to do this? Dreamchaser is at the peak of its popularity. You wouldn’t be here without CZN’s management.”

Renjun waited for Jinhee to give him a signal. She nodded.

“I’m not happy here,” Renjun said. “And I don’t think the company has been fair to me. I don’t want to be a part of Dreamchaser anymore.”

The man gave a disapproving, short sigh. “This is unbelievable. You’ll need to excuse us for a moment.”

“Take your time,” Jinhee said.

The men stood and exited the room.

Once the door clicked, Renjun asked, “What’s happening?”

“We’ve caught them off guard,” Jinhee explained. “They’re trying to regroup, probably consulting their higher-ups. It’s a good thing. We have the upperhand.”

Jeno, who had not spoken a word since they’d arrived at the company building, pulled the pitcher of water towards him and began to fill a glass. Renjun could see his anxiety in the shaky grip of his fingers on the handle.

“Are you okay?” Renjun asked.

“I’m fine.” Jeno took a long sip, shutting his eyes. “It’s just nerve wracking.”

Renjun placed a reassuring hand on his knee. “We’ll survive it. Just hang in there.”

The men returned close to twenty minutes later, filing back into their spots. Striped-Tie folded his hands on the tabletop and began with, “I’ll tell you now -- the company will not give in to your absurd demands. We suggest you reassess your motives and your capabilities before you push this any further.” He was looking at Renjun and Jeno when he said, “You can drop this now, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

Jinhee, unfazed, picked up her file again as if she was going to place it back in her briefcase and leave. “Then we’ll simply file a lawsuit and call it a day.” 

The man laughed. “What lawsuit? You don’t even have a case.”

“If you say so. You can look for our notice in the mail once the suit has been filed.”

His facade fell away. “No -- hold on. You don’t really intend --”

Jinhee stood. “But we do. We came to you first to try and avoid it. But if you leave no other choice --”

“Sit back down,” he pleaded. “Let’s not be so hasty. I’m sure we can find a way to talk it out.”

Jinhee’s lips twitched in the hint of a victorious smile, and she reseated herself. “I’m glad to hear it.”

\---

The meeting lasted for four hours.

At some point, Jeno’s nerves must have dissipated, or just been overwhelmed by exhaustion, because Renjun could have sworn the boy nearly fell asleep in his chair. He didn’t blame him; he’d completely lost track of what was happening after the first half-hour. At some point, Jinhee had pulled out their contracts and begun to weed through them line by line, while the company’s legal team attempted to rebut her every interpretation. Renjun could not, for the life of him, understand what they were talking about.

As it drew to a close, one man said, “What you’re asking for just isn’t practical. The company would be losing money on it. Not to mention what would happen after -- imagine the fan reaction to the sudden departure of two members.”

This brought Renjun back. He’d been trying not to think about the fans. They were the innocent party in all of this. He could not deny that leaving them behind bore a guilt down on him so heavy, it was almost enough to kill his resolve.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to take more extreme measures,” Jinhee said. “If we can’t reach a compromise, we’ll see you in court.”

She stood, gestured for Renjun to do the same, and walked briskly out of the room.

Once outside, a little ways down the hall, Renjun nervously said, “I don’t understand. I thought we were avoiding --”

Jinhee took her phone from her pocket, tapping out some notes. “It’s a threat more than anything, Renjun, to convince them we have a case. Once we file, I’m hoping they’ll reach back out to us to settle out-of-court, to try and keep control of the situation. Then we can withdraw the lawsuit and be on our merry ways.”

“That’s sneaky,” Jeno observed, almost admiringly.

“And the benefit,” she continued, “is that they certainly won’t hold onto you once you’ve made it official. Imagine it, an idol group promoting with two members who are in the process of suing their own company. If they’re worried about the fan reaction, then they won’t be stupid enough to do that. So regardless of what happens, it means you’re out.”

“We’re out,” Renjun echoed.

“The downside,” she said, “is that we’ve pissed them off. If we reach a settlement, I can’t promise you’ll get out scot-free. They’ll be aggressive. You might lose money on it.” She paused. “And worst case scenario, we don’t settle at all. They could counter-sue. But that may be a risk we have to take.”

Renjun frowned. Jinhee herself had already charged a pretty penny to represent them. He’d had so much money, he had not been much bothered by it; but he wondered if, if the company demanded compensation, he would have anything left by the end of it.

“All I need is your go-ahead. Then I can file for you.”

“Can we have a minute to talk about it?” Renjun asked.

“Of course. Meet me at the exit once you’ve decided.” She replaced her phone in her blazer pocket, then clicked the rest of the way down the hall.

Renjun pulled Jeno a bit closer to him, lowering their voices in case a company employee came upon them. “We have to think this through. Once we do this, it’s over.”

“I know,” Jeno whispered. “If you want to… you can always back out.”

“What about you?” Renjun said, catching the _you_, not the _we. _“Would you back out?”

Jeno shook his head. “I think I have to keep going. I was so nervous walking in here today, but when Jinhee was talking just now… it was like I could imagine what’s on the other side. And I’m not nervous anymore. Staying is scarier than leaving. So… I’m seeing it through, to the end.”

It gave Renjun a strange feeling, to hear Jeno say that. Even if Renjun stayed, Jeno would leave. But it didn’t feel like abandonment. The strange feeling, Renjun realized, was pride. Pride that Jeno was sticking to his guns, even if he had to do it alone. Pride that Jeno could value himself outside of their relationship.

Renjun had never loved him more.

“You’re right,” he said. “I won’t give up. We’ve come this far. No half-measures.”

“No half-measures,” Jeno agreed.

As he said it, the men from the meeting room whisked around the corner, nearly running into them. Striped-Tie stopped, looked them over for a moment, and then, face flushed, said, “You two must think you’re awfully clever. But you won’t make a fool of us like this. I guarantee you -- you’ll regret ever picking this fight.” Then they moved on, flouncing towards the stairs, footsteps heavy on the tile floor.

Renjun looked at Jeno again. “Shall we go ask Jinhee to do her thing?”

Jeno grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

\---

An hour later, Renjun received a call from Taeyong, who informed him that he and Jeno were to return to the dorm and collect their things.

Renjun had seen this coming. In fact, he’d starting packing they day after he and Jeno first met with Jinhee, pulling the lazily stuffed-in clothes from the drawers of his wardrobe and laying them at the bottom of a suitcase, then pushing that suitcase beneath his desk in case one of his bandmates happened to enter his room and see it.

They were herded into the elevator by two managers. It felt very much like he and Jeno were criminals, and the managers were the company’s security detail who were there to make sure they didn’t take anything from the apartment they shouldn’t. He had to scoff at it, the coldness with which he and Jeno were being removed, excised from Dreamchaser like a tumor.

They entered the dorm. No one else was home.

“Where are the others?” Renjun asked. They didn’t have practice that day -- that was why they’d scheduled their meeting for that morning. Jaemin had gone to see his parents, but Donghyuck and Mark still should have been there.

One of the managers shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you.”

_Liar. _Renjun knew what was happening. The company would not let them see each other. No final goodbyes for traitors. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from giving a rude retort.

It did not take him long to finish packing. He only took his clothes, his items from the bathroom counter, and Dreamchaser’s first album, the one they’d received before its release. He kissed it, and slipped it into the front pocket of his suitcase.

He tapped on the doorway of Jeno’s room. Jeno sat on the floor, folding his burgundy hoodie, while one of the managers stood over him, waiting.

“Are you almost ready?” Renjun asked.

“Yeah.”

Renjun walked to Jaemin’s bed, and set down a pile he’d gathered from his own room -- a coat of his Jaemin had always admired, a too-large pair of shoes that he saw no point in keeping, and a few books, which Jaemin had claimed he had no patience for, but Renjun thought he would like, if he gave them a chance.

“I can leave these for him, can’t I?” Renjun asked. “You’re not going to toss them or something once we leave, are you?”

The manager, grudgingly, said, “No. That’s fine.”

Jeno packed the last of his things and stood, extending the handle of his suitcase and wheeling it out into the hall. Renjun looked around as they passed through, the last time he would ever see the inside of that little apartment. He would miss it. He peered through the balcony’s glass door. The light was blinking from the top of the construction site crane, the frame of the building still a skeleton, perpetually incomplete.

The manager opened the front door. Renjun and Jeno stepped out.

“There they are!”

Renjun backed away on impulse as Taeyong’s apartment door, just across the hall from their own, burst open and Donghyuck ran out, almost crashing right into them. Behind him was Mark, trying to grab hold of the hem of his shirt. “Donghyuck -- stupid -- you’ll get us in trouble --”

Donghyuck clearly did not care, because despite Mark’s grip and the eyes of the managers on them, he threw his arms around Renjun’s neck, hugging him so tightly that Renjun thought he was going to squeeze the guts right out of him.

“They were holding us hostage,” Donghyuck accused. He was crying onto the front of Renjun’s shirt. “They told us we weren’t allowed to see you when you came to get your stuff --”

One of the managers placed a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, trying to pry him away. Renjun smacked him hard on the arm.

Taeyong appeared in his doorway, behind Mark. He said to the other managers, “For God’s sake, just let them have a moment. It wouldn’t kill you to show a little sympathy.”

“But we were told --”

“I don’t care. If you get in trouble for it, tell them it’s my fault.”

The manager stepped away, hands raised to show he would not make another attempt.

“I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck sobbed. “I’m sorry, Renjun -- it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said all those things to the two of you. I was so mean... I didn’t mean to make you leave --”

Renjun took Donghyuck’s face in his hands, so he could look him in the eye as he said, “It wasn’t your fault, Donghyuck. Me and Jeno would have left anyway. A lot of things caused it. But not you.”

Donghyuck sniffled. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry. I -- I was just jealous. I thought me and you were so close -- but then I found out about you and Jeno -- and how you’d told Jaemin, but not me -- and I thought it meant we weren’t as close as I thought. I was your third favorite -- your third choice --”

“It’s okay.” Renjun smiled, so that Donghyuck knew he meant it. “And you aren’t my third choice. You ought to know how much I love you by now. So don’t talk yourself down like that.”

Donghyuck smiled, too, through the tears. Renjun pressed a forgiving kiss to his cheek. Then he turned to Mark, who hovered beside them, eyes downcast, wrinkle between his brows -- his own, more subtle kind of sadness.

“I leave all my plants to you,” Renjun told him. “I can’t bring them with me, and you’re the only one I trust to take care of them.”

“Me?” Mark looked at Renjun, eyes wide.

“Of course, _you_. You’re the leader. You take good care of the things you’re in charge of.”

Mark breathed in, then nodded very seriously, like watering those plants was the most important duty he’d ever been bestowed. Satisfied, Renjun picked up his suitcase, and he and Jeno walked down the hall, towards the elevator. Their business there was over.

Renjun had not been able to say goodbye to Jaemin, but he was not worried about it. In the pocket of the coat he’d laid on his bed was a note, that read: _Meet me tomorrow night, ten o’clock, at the park the next block over._

\---

Renjun woke with Jeno’s arm around his waist. The light was stifled by the hotel room blinds, drawn shut to allow them a chance to sleep in for a change. He relished it, snuggling down beneath the comforter, shifting so he could admire Jeno’s face as he slept. He looked soft, younger than he was, for once the dark circles disappeared from beneath his eyes without the use of concealer. Renjun realized that this was the new normal. He would be able to wake up every morning and feel Jeno’s warmth and look at his face. And one day, it would not be in a hotel room, but an apartment, some place that belonged to the two of them. He wondered what that place would look like. He would fill the windows with plants, that much he was sure of, and every morning after he woke up he would water them. And as he watered them Jeno would approach from behind and wrap his arms around him, kissing his neck, both of them basking in how sacred and lovely it was to live on their own, to have their privacy, to be adults.

Renjun was overwhelmed at the thought of it. He let out a little hiccup as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Jeno was woken by the noise. He cracked one eye open, saw that Renjun was crying, and asked, voice raspy, “Is it a Bad Day already?”

“No,” Renjun said. “It’s a Good Day.”

It had been awhile since his last Bad Day. He thought it was because the stress of being an idol was gone, easing the pressure on his brain. He knew it was not permanent. There would be other types of stress to come once he and Jeno left. There would be more Bad Days. But at that moment, they seemed so distant, he could not be bothered by them.

Jeno mopped Renjun’s tears with his thumb, and gave him a sleepy, easy kiss on the mouth.

\---

Renjun sat on a bench in the circle of light thrown by a nearby streetlamp.

It was a beautiful night, warm enough that he was jacketless. The park was quiet, empty aside from two rabbits that chewed on the grass a few feet away. Their ears twitched at the sound of someone approaching, and they bounded off towards the jungle gym to find a hiding place.

“Injun,” Jaemin said. He walked into the light. It made him glow. “Kinda late to be out, huh?”

“I was thinking of you,” Renjun responded. “It’s dangerous for an idol to go out by day, isn’t it? No one will recognize you in the dark.”

Jaemin smiled and settled on the bench beside him. “So it’s over, then. This is the end.”

“Not the end for you. Just the end for me and Jeno.”

Jaemin’s smile faltered a little bit. He was trying to be happy, but the sadness still showed through. It was funny to Renjun -- wasn’t Jaemin always the first to cry, the first to be honest about how he felt? But now, he was holding it together somehow. He had become stronger, more resilient.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said. “I won’t try and convince you to stay, because I know it’s too late, and you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t think it was the right thing. But I wish, if things were a little different, that this would never have needed to happen.”

“Me too.” Renjun wondered what that kind of universe would look like. He wondered, if the five of them had signed at a different company, if they might have been happier there. He wondered if he could have been happy being an idol at all, or if it all would have come to an end no matter what. He was inclined to believe the latter.

“The fans will miss you, too.” Jaemin tilted his head back along the crest of the bench. The light hit his eyes, and they glimmered. “Did you see the articles this morning, after the news came out? They’re devastated.”

“I know.” He could not count the number of times he’d thought of them over the past week, worrying about how they might react. He had avoided reading any comments for that very reason. He didn’t like knowing he was a disappointment to them. But then he would remember that girl from the fansign (what was her name? Yebin? Yewon? He cursed himself for being unable to remember) and the way she’d found a little strength in him. And he thought it was disingenuous to stand up there and be her idol when there was so much happening behind the scenes that she was not privy to, things that did not make him a very good idol at all. And he thought that if she knew that, she would understand.

“I -- I feel like it’ll be pointless when you leave,” Jaemin admitted. “Like it’ll be pointless without it being the five of us. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Renjun shook his head. “Of course you can. Being an idol wasn’t right for me or Jeno. But it’s different for you. When you go onstage, you don’t act like something you’re not. You just act like yourself, and the fans adore you. The _real _you. And I think that’s the only kind of person who can make it as an idol. So don’t give up. Not because of someone like me.”

The moon above them was half-full. It cast a diamond-white light over them, glinting off the grass, their sneakers, and illuminating the silver coil around Renjun’s wrist.

“You still have it?” Jaemin asked.

“Of course I do.” Renjun lifted it, turning the bracelet so it shimmered. He’d stopped wearing it for a while, because it made him feel awful to remember how he’d used it to toy with Jeno. But it had been a gift. More than a gift. It was a thread, and it tied him and Jaemin together at the wrists.

Jaemin smiled again, though he was a bit watery-eyed this time. “You’re sure you’ll be happy?” he asked.

“I think so,” Renjun said. “You told me that loving someone was not enough to make me happy. And I think you were right. But I also think Jeno needs someone like me. And I think that if I can be a little kinder for his sake -- if I can be kind and selfless and good and patient -- then I can start to like myself a little more. And then, I can be happy.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll try it, too.”

“Jaemin, you’re already all of those things.” Renjun could not think of anyone more kind or selfless or good or patient, or anyone more deserving of happiness, than Na Jaemin. “There was something else you told me once. You told me that you wanted to be an idol to save people. Remember that?”

“I remember.”

“You should be proud of yourself, then, because you’ve already saved me once or twice.”

The rabbits beneath the jungle gym emerged once more. They ran in circles, chasing each other like children playing tag. Then they sped off into the row of trees, out of sight.

“Renjun,” Jaemin said.

He leaned forward and kissed Renjun gently at the corner of his mouth. A farewell kiss. Renjun wondered for one last time whether he’d made the right choice. But he decided he was finished with regret and longing and imagining other realities. He’d chosen Jeno. And he would trust himself.

Jaemin stood to leave. “I’ll see you around, then.”

It wasn’t a proper goodbye, Renjun thought, or at least not a final one. It was an always open door.

“Of course you will,” he responded. “Someday.”

“Keep in touch.”

With that, Jaemin left. Renjun took out his phone, and called for a cab to take him back to the hotel, to Jeno.

\---

They sat again in the company meeting room.

It was their fourth time doing this. After the suit was filed, the company had done just as Jinhee had predicted and called them back for a settlement. But it was not as simple as it sounded. It was a debate. Jinhee leaned forward with her elbows on the table, scrutinizing every word the lawyers said, refusing to be unwittingly screwed over. The company, just as they had threatened, had taken a hard line. The CEO, Choi Jongnam, had even joined the proceedings the past few sessions -- he sat silently on the opposite side of the table, allowing the legal team to do their work but every so often jotting something down aggressively on his pad of paper. Renjun wondered why he was even there. Perhaps he thought his presence might be enough of a threat to push things in the company’s favor.

Renjun eyed him suspiciously. He’d always seemed a mild man, the times they had met. He was beginning to think it was an act, judging by the cold glare he’d had fixed on him and Jeno for the past several hours.

“This is ridiculous,” Jinhee said. “You’re asking for billions of won in pay out. You know full well that my clients don’t have that kind of money.”

“It’s only fair,” Striped-Tie insisted. That day, he was not wearing a striped tie, but the nickname had stuck in Renjun’s head. “Cancelling their contracts would cost CZN a fortune.”

“It’s simply not possible.”

“Then we can’t reach an agreement.”

Renjun sighed. How many times had they reached this point? He was convinced the company was only dragging it out now to torture him.

“When we go to court --” Jinhee began.

“We aren’t afraid,” Striped-Tie snapped. “We know you haven’t got a case. If you did, you wouldn’t be bothering with all of this pretense.”

Jinhee’s face went red. It was the first time Renjun had seen her flustered. “Well, you certainly seem afraid --”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone quieted. Jeno sat at the far end of the table, his hand raised.

“What is it?” Striped-Tie asked.

“I was wondering if the lawyers could just leave the room for a second,” he said. “If just us and Mr. Choi could talk.”

Striped-Tie glanced at the rest of his team, then at Jinhee in confusion. “I don’t know --”

The CEO finally spoke. “That’s alright with me.”

Renjun was just as puzzled as the lawyers had been. He and Jeno had not talked about this. He offered him a curious cocking of his eyebrow. Jeno ignored it.

Dismissed, the lawyers stood and made their way out of the room. Jongnam scooted his chair closer to the table’s center. “What do you want, Jeno?” He said it lightly, but Renjun could tell what he’d really wanted to say was, _Spit it out, you brat._

Jeno leaned in, his voice low. “I want you to tell them our contracts are finished.”

The CEO matched Jeno’s posture, shoulders hunched. “And why exactly should I do that?”

“Because I know what really happens in this company,” Jeno said. “I know what kind of people you hire. I could make a list of names. And I could tell everyone about how corrupt it is. About the ways you exploit your artists.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “I think you know exactly what I’m referring to.”

Renjun’s jaw dropped.

Jongnam relinquished all his put-on professionalism. Words hissing like the lit fuse on a bomb, he said, “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“I’m not blackmailing you.” Jeno was not affected by the weight of that word. He stayed perfectly cool, and said, “I’m only telling you that there are repercussions to the way you do business. You can’t hire men with filthy hands and expect them not to leave a trail of fingerprints.”

Renjun was completely breathless. They hadn’t mentioned any of that sort of thing to Jinhee -- Jeno had not offered it up, and Renjun did not think it was his place to offer it if Jeno was not comfortable. But now he was using it to their advantage. He was taking ownership of it. He was exposing that trauma to reclaim it.

“There is no _trail_,” Jongnam insisted. “You don’t have any evidence.”

“But imagine if I say it. Imagine if I say it, and it turns out that it happened to other trainees, too -- which I’m sure it must have at some point -- and then there’s more than just me, and it’s all our accusations against the company --”

“Be quiet,” Jongnam ordered.

Jeno smirked. “Never.”

Jongnam pressed his wringing hands to his mouth, trying to think quickly. Renjun could see the calculations behind his eyes, the desperation. The intense focus it was taking not to strike the smirk from Jeno’s face. He was angry, but he was beaten.

He stood, went to the door, and called the lawyers back in.

Once they all took their seats, he said, “Let’s wrap this up. We’re dissolving the contracts.”

Striped-Tie balked. “We’re what?”

“We’re dissolving them,” he repeated.

Jinhee, huge-eyed, turned to Jeno and mouthed, _What did you say to him?_

He shrugged in response, as if it had been nothing at all.

\---

Renjun and Jeno came upon the glass doors of the exit.

They paused, Jeno’s hand on the handle, when they heard a noise from behind them.

“Wait!”

It was the woman who kept Renjun’s personal file, the one who had turned his mother’s calls away. She came running down the stairwell nearest to them, scrambling to a stop as nimbly as her high heels would allow her. “Renjun,” she panted. “I just heard that your meeting let out -- I kept meaning to talk to you -- and this might be my last chance --”

“What is it?” he asked.

She took a moment to catch her breath, then held out a tiny piece of paper.

“Your mother’s phone number,” she said. “If you aren’t with the company anymore, then there’s no reason for you not to have it.” She glanced around quickly, to make sure no one else was around. Clearly, she had not asked for clearance on her mission. “So -- take it. I felt so awful keeping it from you. It’s yours now.”

Renjun, hand shaking, took the paper from between her fingers. “This… this is really it?”

“Yes,” she said. “Her last call was about a month ago. I think it should still be up to date.”

Renjun felt his throat begin to prickle as tears filled his eyes. He realized, then, that there were good people in the company, too. And he thought it was such a shame that they were not the ones in charge, because if they were, perhaps he would still be an idol.

“Thank you,” he said.

She bowed, and then hurried back up the stairs before anyone could discover she was missing.

Renjun gripped that paper tightly in his hand, not even willing to put it in his pocket in case it might fall out. He would not lose it. He would never let it go. He dabbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist.

With his other hand, he took Jeno’s.

They pushed the doors open, and walked out of CZN into the slanted sunlight of the real world. Beyond the parking lot, cars drove by on the city streets. Pedestrians strolled alongside them, crowding the sidewalks. Renjun wondered where they were all going. He and Jeno -- they could go anywhere, now, too. They had so much time, so many options. He wanted to explore all of them. It would be a waste not to.

Jeno gave his hand a little squeeze. “Are you ready?” he asked. The corners of his lips were upturned, the beginnings of a smile, something half-anxious and half-hopeful but fully beautiful in its recognition of all the possibilities, like the first fragile bud on a stem, both breakable and able to bloom, if only given the chance.

Renjun felt like he was seeing Jeno for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title: Archiveofourown User playingprince Ends Every Fic With Noren Eloping
> 
> alternative title: 20 Chapters Later, Jaemin Finally Calls Renjun By His Name
> 
> alternative title: It Was Long, But I Hope It Was Worth It
> 
> i'll be leaving my final notes in the epilogue, which will be posted in the next day or two
> 
> see you then!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	21. Epilogue

10 AM. The Han River glinted beneath the morning sun, its gentle current tugging it forward until it disappeared at the horizon. A few people strolled along the sidewalk: a young couple, high-schoolers, shyly holding hands as if it was the first time they’d done it; a class of kindergarteners, all linked along a handled rope, trying to peer down into the river’s depths while their teacher kept guiding them back from the shore; a mother pushing a stroller, from which a baby babbled while its little hand poked from beneath the stroller’s awning, grabbing at a distant butterfly.

Inconspicuous, at the water’s edge:

“There was a fish just now! It tried to bite me.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not full of shit. It was really there. A big one.”

“Fish don’t come this shallow.”

“What do you know about fish? I bet you’ve never even gone fishing before.”

A sigh. “Fine, Renjun. A fish almost bit you. I’ll let you have your little fantasy.”

Renjun giggled. He won every argument these days.

Jeno adjusted his glasses, holding his phone in front of his face.

“This is really unbelievable.”

“What does it say? Read it to me.”

“Well -- this first part isn’t unbelievable. ‘Dreamchaser cancels upcoming tours in Japan, Thailand.’ I guess we saw that one coming.”

Renjun stuck his hand back into the water. It was cool from the nighttime, but pleasantly so. He wiggled his finger, trying to lure another fish, just to prove Jeno wrong.

“This next part is the unbelievable part,” Jeno continued. “Prepare yourself.”

“I am prepared.”

“‘CZN Entertainment announces the addition of two new members to the Dreamchaser lineup, just two weeks after the departure of members Renjun and Jeno. Chenle and Jisung will begin promotions with the group at the time of their next comeback.’” Jeno couldn’t hold back his incredulous laughter. “God. _Really _unbelievable. They’ve replaced us. Look, they even got another Chinese boy.”

“Maybe they’re hoping no one will notice they’ve swapped us out,” Renjun suggested.

“There’s no way the fans will accept it. They’ll riot.”

Renjun shook his head. “I hope not. If those new boys survived being trainees, they deserve to debut.” He pulled his hand back out of the water. No bites. “I hope the fans are kind to them. I hope they do well.”

Jeno smiled, and they both quieted. Renjun leaned a little further over the river, looking down at his reflection. His hair had nearly gone back to its natural color. He pulled down his mask, exposing his makeupless face; and seeing it, he felt at home in his own body, for the first time in a long time.

“You know,” he said. “I’ve lived in Seoul for over four years, but I’ve never gone to the Han River. I mean, I’ve _seen _it. Like, we’ve passed by it plenty of times. But I never saw it up close, until now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Remember, when we were trainees, you asked me to go with you once. But I stayed behind to practice.” It seemed so distant, that memory. It wasn’t a very fond one, but for some reason, it made Renjun wistful. “Even though this is my first time really seeing the river -- I still think I’ll miss it when I’m gone.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess I do remember that.” Jeno also stared down at his reflection, the two of them side-by-side. “I’ll miss it, too.”

Renjun looked away from Jeno’s mirrored face, to the real thing. “You’re coming with me?”

He hadn’t been sure about it. The day he’d received his mother’s number, he’d held it tight in his trembling hands until they had returned to their hotel room. Then, he’d immediately dialed it, barely able to breathe in anticipation as he held the phone to his ear.

When he’d heard her voice, he’d been unable to hold back tears.

It turned out she was living in Changchun now. She lived alone, in a little apartment. A cheap one, she had said, but nice, comfortable. She worked at a maid service, and though it wasn’t pleasant work, she did not mind it. She had called CZN at least once a month, for two years.

Renjun had sat curled in the hotel room armchair for a long, long time while she’d talked, crying and smiling at the same time.

Then he'd told her, without even thinking it through, that he was coming to see her. He was going to stay with her for as long as it took to fill her in on everything that had happened, as long as it took to make up for all their lost time. He had not considered, however, whether Jeno would want to come. It was a lot to ask, for him to come with him to a country where he couldn’t even speak the language, where he would be staying for an indeterminate amount of time. They had been planning to find a place in Korea, and Jeno had been so giddy about it, too, having their own apartment, their own space, for just the two of them. And now, that plan was delayed.

But Renjun should have known better, than to think Jeno might abandon him.

“I’m coming with you,” Jeno said. “There’s not anything keeping me here. I’m certainly not moving back in with my parents. Plus, I’m in love with you, so really, I’d go with you anywhere.”

When he said that, the happiness hit Renjun so hard it knocked the breath right out of him. It struck him like a bullet. He’d felt that kind of happiness so rarely in his life -- only twice before, during their debut performance when the crowd cheered his name, and when the woman had given him his mother’s number -- that it was a still unfamiliar feeling. So unfamiliar, he was almost afraid of it. He backed away from it. Backed so far away, he became that boy in Wenzhou again, the nervous boy who didn’t know how to make friends, so shy at the thought of love he wanted to hide from it.

“Are you sure you want me?” he asked quietly, looking away. “I’m no good to talk to.”

“Of course I want you,” Jeno responded. “And don’t say that. You’re my favorite to talk to.” He reached out and pinched Renjun’s cheek, as if to prove to him that it was not a dream.

Renjun let the happiness in, and decided that, after all this time, he deserved it.

\---

Renjun had always hated airports. They had only brought bad things to him in the past -- his uncle, CZN Entertainment. But now he could not hate them, because in just a moment he would be touching down in Changchun, and his mother was waiting for him in the terminal, and Jeno was sitting beside him, hand on his knee, a comforting touch to keep him tied to Earth even though they were thousands of miles above it.

The plane descended. Its wheels met the pavement. It slowed to a stop.

When he walked inside, through the gate, he glanced around from face-to-face at the waiting welcomers, searching. He almost didn’t recognize her at first, because she’d cut her hair -- her long, beautiful hair -- so that it hit just above her shoulders instead of the middle of her back. And her face was rounder, too, not so gaunt and hollowed out by sickness and pills. But she was there, standing perhaps fifty feet away, maybe even closer, and she was smiling at him. He couldn’t hear her voice above the din, but he could see her lips, forming his name.

“Mom!” he shouted.

He didn’t wait for Jeno, though he figured Jeno did not mind. He ran to her, and he was already bawling, before he even touched her. He ran to her as fast as he could, through the line, jostling the other arriving passengers, but not caring. He ran to her so fast he was flying, disregarding the roped gate, arms outstretched.

He ran to her, and she ran to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [you can now read a short sequel to wwbft here!](https://twitter.com/playing_prince/status/1308388863967219712)
> 
> renjun: i love you  
jeno, a full two chapters later: oh yeah by the way i love you too :) haha
> 
> so it’s over :( idk what to say really, it’s been a trip and a half and i’m really gonna miss writing this!! it was a long process, but i think i learned a lot through it, so it was definitely worth it.
> 
> some things that inspired this fic:  
1) the song “born again” by tiffany young, in an ironic, semi-cynical kind of way. while that song is about Sexual Healing and this fic is about Whatever The Opposite Of Sexual Healing Is, i still think the uplifting vibe of it ultimately fits the feel of this fic at the end -- plus, i listened to it way too many times while writing this.  
2) that one weekly idol ep where renjun was like “i’m not rlly that pure” bc honestly??? so iconic. i even wrote it into this fic. so shout out to renjun i guess lmao
> 
> i’d like to thank everyone who’s stuck with this fic to the end, and also an extra special thanks to everyone who has left comments/sent me messages/asked cc’s, because i love interacting with all of you and seeing your thoughts!!! it makes writing all the more fun and rewarding and i couldn’t ask for a better audience 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞
> 
> as far as the future goes, i’ll be taking a step back for the next couple months while i work on my noren fic fest piece!! it’ll be posted around the end of april, so look forward to that! in the meantime, i probably won’t be working on or posting anything else to this account, since i’ll be busy wrapping up my school year -- but i’ll be back in full swing this summer with lots of new ideas!!! if you want to keep in touch during my little absence, i’ll still be around on social media below!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)
> 
> thanks for everything you guys!!! (and if you left a comment on the last chapter or this one, i’ll be responding soon!! :3)


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